EXCHANGE 


CLIMBING  THE  ROCKIES. 


SHOSHONE 


AND 


OTHER    WESTERN    WONDERS 


BY  EDWARDS  ROBERTS 

WITH  A  PREFACE  BY 
CHARLES    FRANCIS    ADAMS 

ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK? 

HARPER   &    BROTHERS,   FRANKLIN    SQUARE 
1888 


PRESERVATION 
COPY  ADDED 


Copyright,  1888,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 


All  rights  reserved. 


PREFACE. 


TN  the  preface  to  his  volume  called  the  "  Ore- 
-**  gon  Trail,"  -  -  one  of  the  most  delightful 
of  his  books,  by  the  way,  and  one  which  should 
be  regularly  sold  on  the  "  overland  trains  "  of 
the  Union  Pacific,  —  the  historian  Parkman 
describes  how,  shortly  after  graduation,  he,  in 
company  with  his  cousin  and  classmate,  Quincy 
A.  Shaw,  was  one  day  journeying  in  the  then 
wilderness,  which  is  now  Eastern  Colorado.  He 
says : — 

"  I  remember  that,  as  we  rode  by  the  foot  of  Pike's 
Peak,  when  for  a  fortnight  we  met  no  face  of  man,  my 
companion  remarked,  in  a  tone  anything  but  com 
placent,  that  a  time  would  come  when  those  plains 
would  be  a  grazing  country,  the  buffalo  give  place  to 
tame  cattle,  farm-houses  be  scattered  along  the  water 
courses,  and  wolves,  bears,  and  Indians  be  numbered 


3G58S5 


PREFACE. 


among  the  things  that  were.  We  condoled  with 
each  other  on  so  melancholy  a  prospect,  but  we 
little  thought  what  the  future  had  in  store." 

This  was  in  1846.  The  object  of  the  present 
volume  is  to  describe  to  the  tourist  a  route  be 
ginning-  where  Parkman  left  off,  at  the  foot  of 
Pike's  Peak,  passing  through  the  wonderful 
mountain  and  desert  scenery  of  Colorado  and 
Eastern  Utah  to  Great  Salt  Lake,  thence  north 
ward  by  the  way  of  the  Falls  of  Shoshone  and 
the  great  lava  bed  of  Idaho,  through  which  the 
Snake  cuts  its  way,  to  the  plateau  of  the  Yel 
lowstone.  There  rivers  which  flow  to  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  the  Gulf  of  California,  and  the 
North  Pacific,  all  find  their  source.  From  this 
mountain  birthplace  of  flowing  waters,  the  tourist 
would  emerge  by  the  gateway  of  the  Missouri. 

Travelled  Americans  are  more  familiar  with 
Europe  than  with  their  own  country;  and  yet  it 
would  not  be  easy  anywhere  in  Europe  to  find 
so  much  that  is  novel,  interesting  and  beautiful 
crowded  into  one  short  journey.  There  are 
historical  associations,  also,  which  attach  to  the 
trip.  It  is  now  familiar  ground,  but  it  was  the 


PREFACE.  vii 

field  of  the  first  explorations  ever  attempted  by 
the  United  States  Government.  As  they  ap 
proach  it,  most  people  probably  suppose  Pike 
to  have  been  some  miner  of "  the  forty-nine" 
period ;  and  they  never  know  that  the  name, 
Pike's  Peak,  is  the  familiar  monument  of  a  gal 
lant  soldier  of  the  United  States,  a  brigadier- 
general  of  the  War  of  1812,  Zebulon  M.  Pike, 
who  in  his  thirty-fifth  year  met  his  death  at 
the  assault  of  York  as  it  was  then  called,  now 
Toronto,  in  April,  1813.  Seven  years  before, 
in  1806,  he  had  started  from  St.  Louis,  under 
orders  from  President  Jefferson,  to  find  his  way 
to  the  head-waters  of  the  Arkansas  and  Red 
Rivers.  While  toiling  thither  he  first  descried, 
upon  the  I5th  of  November,  1806,  the  blue 
peaks  of  the  Mexican  mountains  to  the  west 
ward  ;  and  accordingly  the  most  prominent 
among  them  has  from  that  day  to  this  been 
known  as  Pike's  Peak. 

So,  also,  the  scientific  name  of  Great  Salt 
Lake  is  Bonneville,  after  that  Captain  Bonne- 
ville  whose  life  and  curious  adventures  among 
the  Indians  about  the  year  1830  have  been 


viii  PREFACE. 

vividly  described  by  Washington  Irving ;  though 
with  little  actual  knowledge  of  the  subject  about 
which  he  was  writing. 

As  the  traveller  goes  north,  following  the 
route  laid  down  for  him  by  Mr.  Roberts  in  this 
volume,  he  may  enter  the  Yellowstone  Park  by 
the  beautiful  Canon  of  the  Madison.  Here  he 
comes  directly  upon  the  trail  of  the  expedition 
of  Lewis  and  Clarke,  sent  out  by  President  Jef 
ferson  in  the  year  1803  to  find  its  way  through 
the  northern  portion  of  the  recently  acquired 
Louisiana  purchase  to  the  mouth  of  the  great 
river  discovered  by  Captain  Gray,  of  Boston,  in 
the  ship  Columbia,  in  May,  1792.  It  was  on 
the  28th  of  July,  1805,  that  the  two  famous  ex 
plorers,  having  toiled  slowly  up  the  Missouri, 
reached  the  point  where  the  great  river  forked 
in  three  directions ;  and  they  say :  — 

"We  were  therefore  induced  to  discontinue  the 
name  of  Missouri,  and  give  to  the  southwest  branch 
the  name  of  Jefferson,  in  honor  of  the  President  of 
the  United  States,  the  projector  of  the  enterprise ; 
and  called  the  middle  .branch  Madison,  after  James 
Madison,  Secretary  of  State." 


PREFACE.  ix 

Returning  the  following  year,  having  wintered 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia,  Lewis  and  Clarke 
reached  St.  Louis  on  the  23d  of  September, 
1806,  about  two  months  after  Lieutenant  Pike 
had  started  on  the  journey  which  was  to  leave 
him  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  Spanish 
authorities  at  Santa  Fe.  The  modern  traveller, 
following  the  itinerary  laid  down  in  this  volume, 
will  thus  go  out  by  the  route  of  Lieutenant  Pike, 
and  return  by  that  of  Lewis  and  Clarke,  passing 
on  his  way  through  the  scene  of  the  adventures 
of  Bonneville. 

But  the  tourist  who  would  still  like  to  have 
a  taste,  though  hardly,  perhaps,  more  than  a 
remote  flavor  of  what  is  known  as  "  roughing 
it"  in  his  journey,  has  no  time  to  lose.  Civ 
ilization,  with  all  that  the  name  implies,  is 
rapidly  taking  possession  of  the  whole  moun 
tain  region  of  the  West.  Down  to  the  days  of 
Parkman,  Colorado  was  much  the  same  as  when 
it  was  first  explored  by  Pike.  The  change  has 
come  within  the  last  twenty-five  years ;  and  the 
change  which  has  already  taken  place  is  sug 
gestive  of  the  yet  greater  change  to  come. 


X  PREFACE. 

For  the  man  or  woman  who,  tired  of  the  cities 
and  of  civilization,  wishes  for  a  time  to  get  near 
to  Nature,  there  is  still  much  left  west  of  the 
eastern  base  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Neither 
the  steam  railroad  nor  the  electric  road  has  yet 
marred  the  Yellowstone.  The  luxury  and  keen 
enjoyment  of  two  days'  staging  even  are  to  be 
had  between  Beaver  Canon  and  the  Firehole 
of  the  Yellowstone. 

The  trip  merits  all  that  Mr.  Roberts  has  said 
in  its  commendation.  A  few  months  ago  Carl 
Schurz  chanced  to  remark  to  the  writer  that 
of  all  earthly  places  his  eyes  ever  rested  on, 
Henry's  Lake  in  Idaho,  at  the  gates  of  the  Yel 
lowstone,  seemed  to  him  nearest  to  a  terrestrial 
paradise.  The  remark  met  with  a  warm  re 
sponse.  The  day  is  not  remote  when  at  the 
head  of  Henry's  Lake  will  be  found  a  large 
summer  hotel  to  which  those  residing  in  our 
Eastern  cities,  who  are  weary  of  watering-places 
and  of  the  familiar  European  trips,  will  go  to 
breathe  in  health  from  the  fresh  mountain  air 
and  to  enjoy  a  scenery  and  a  nearness  to  Nature 
which  it  is  not  easy  anywhere  else  to  find  in 


PREFACE.  XI 

equal  proportion.  That  region  is  still  wild. 
The  woods  are  full  of  game,  and  the  waters 
teem  with  fish.  Day  after  day  you  can  walk 
or  go  on  horseback  through  those  park-like 
mountain  reaches,  and  feel  that  you  are  wholly 
away  from  the  haunts  of  men.  And  yet  in  a 
few  years  they  will  be  hardly  less  frequented 
than  the  White  Mountains  or  the  Catskills  now 
are. 

It  is  still  rare  to  meet  any  one  who  has  seen 
the  Falls  of  the  Snake ;  and  people  look  with 
mild  surprise  upon  those  who,  having  visited 
Shoshone,  presume  to  compare  it  with  Niagara. 
Yet  no  one  possessed  of  a  keen  eye  for  the 
beautiful  and  the  picturesque  can  visit  the  two 
places  without  feeling  that  the  Idaho  cataract, 
high  up  in  the  great  table-land  amid  its  lava 
beds,  and  under  those  wonderful  mountain  skies 
and  in  that  mountain  atmosphere,  is  incom 
parably  the  more  attractive,  and,  indeed,  except 
in  volume  of  water,  the  more  wonderful,  as  well 
as  more  interesting,  of  the  two. 

The  proposed  trip  includes  much,  though  for 
one  starting  even  from  the  Eastern  or  seaboard 


xii  PREFACE. 

cities  it  can  be  made  in  the  course  of  three  or, 
at  most,  four  weeks.  It  involves  a  lasting  per 
sonal  acquaintance,  as  it  were,  with  Niagara, 
Chicago,  the  great  plains,  the  mountainous 
regions  and  summer  resorts  of  Colorado,  the 
Canons  of  the  Arkansas  and  the  Gunnison,  the 
Marshall  Pass,  the  Great  Salt  Lake  of  Utah, 
with  its  strange,  picturesque,  geological  forma 
tion  and  pure,  clear,  health-giving  atmosphere, 
the  Falls  of  the  Snake,  the  two  days'  staging 
across  the  park-like  mountain  plateau  which 
leads  to  the  sources  of  the  Madison,  the  innu 
merable  wonders  of  the  Yellowstone  Park,  and 
finally  the  journey  along  the  head-waters  of 
the  Missouri,  all  ending  at  St.  Paul.  No  one 
who  makes  the  trip  is  likely  ever  to  forget  it. 
That  more  may  realize  what  it  is,  and  so  be 
induced  to  make  it,  is  the  object  of  the  present 
volume. 

CHARLES  FRANCIS  ADAMS. 

BOSTON,  July  20,  1888. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  FIRST  IMPRESSIONS I 

II.  THE  CITY  OF  DENVER 22 

III.  CLEAR  CREEK  AND  ITS  SURROUNDINGS    .  53 

IV.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  PIKE'S  PEAK   ...  73 
V.  THROUGH  THE  HEART  OF  COLORADO  .     .  95 

VI.    GLIMPSES  OF  UTAH 119 

VII.     SHOSHONE 142 

VIII.    A  NEW  ROUTE  TO  WONDERLAND    .     .     .     174 
IX.    AMONG   THE   GEYSERS   OF   THE  YELLOW 
STONE   202 

X.    HOMEWARD  BOUND.    .    ...    .    .    .    .  -246 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

Climbing  the  Rockies Frontispiece 

The  Dawn  of  Civilization 5 

A  Prairie  Town 15 

General  View  of  Denver 25 

Fourteenth  Street,  Denver 29 

The  State  Capitol 37 

The  Opera  House 50 

Hanging  Rock,  Clear  Creek  Canon 55 

Idaho  Springs 59 

Manitou 75 

The  Antlers .     .     .  84 

A  Spring  House 88 

On  the  Road  to  Pike's  Peak ...-.-  93 

Currecanti  Needle,  Black  Canon 103 

Castle  Gate 113 

East  Side  of  Salt  Lake  City  .     .     .' 123 

The  Temple  and  Tabernacle,  Salt  Lake      ....  128 

Pulpits  and  Organ     . 130 

The  Grand  Leap 143 


XVI  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PACK 

The  Great  Falls,  Shoshone 153 

Above  the  Falls l^j 

The  Twin  Shoshone  Falls 162 

Under  the  Great  Falls,  Shoshone 165 

Down  the  Canon  from  Twin  Falls 169 

Madison  Valley r^^ 

Snake  River  Crossing !86 

Fording  the  Snake ^9 

Tyghee  Pass I9I 

Manley's  Cabin Igft 

Falls  of  the  Yellowstone 203 

Old  Faithful 222 

The  Giant  Geyser 229 

Following  the  Yellowstone 237 

Grand  Canon  of  the  Yellowstone 241 

Climbing  the  Terraces 251 

The  Hot  Springs  Terrace 262 


SHOSHONE, 


AND 


OTHER    WESTERN     WONDERS. 


SHOSHONE, 


AND 


OTHER    WESTERN    WONDERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

FIRST    IMPRESSIONS. 

A  T  the  city  of  Omaha,  overlooking  the 
**•  muddy  waters  of  the  Missouri,  one  is  at 
last  face  to  face  with  the  far  West.  The  city 
itself  affords  a  striking  illustration  of  the  untir 
ing  industry  that  has  so  materially  changed  the 
aspect  of  the  country  lying  between  the  Rock 
ies  and  the  Missouri.  Surrounding  Omaha  the 
progress  of  later  days  is  most  marked ;  but  in 
the  far  distance  are  still  the  sea-like  plains 
that  were  once  the  terror  of  a  restless  army 
bound  across  their  trackless  wastes  toward 
Pike's  Peak. 

In  the  "  good  old  days,"  as  -some  enjoy  calling 
that  period  during  which  the  middle  West  was 


4  "  SBaSHONE. 

a  veritable  terra  incognita,  "  the  West "  was 
Buffalo.  Later,  the  distinction  was  claimed  by 
Chicago.  To-day,  both  these  cities  have  lost 
such  prestige.  Even  Denver,  far  away  as  it  is, 
can  scarcely  be  regarded  as  on  the  outskirts  of 
civilization.  For  beyond  it  is  Salt  Lake  City; 
to  the  northwest  are  Cheyenne  and  Laramie ;  in 
the  extreme  north  are  Butte  and  Helena.  The 
growth  of  the  trans-Missouri  country  has  been 
one  of  phenomenal  rapidity.  Every  year  the 
changes  are  marked  and  important.  Denver, 
Kansas  City,  Omaha,  and  other  places  have 
grown  from  villages  to  towns,  and  from  towns 
to  cities.  One  need  not  read  to  obtain  their 
history ;  he  can  have  it  told  by  many  a  settler. 
The  cities  were  born  and  have  attained  their 
manhood  within  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

In  taking  his  first  trip  westward  one  must 
prepare  to  be  disappointed.  He  will  find  less 
barbarism  than  he  expected,  and  more  civiliza 
tion.  The  era  which  the  novels  of  brilliant  hue 
depict  is  an  era  of  the  past.  Much  is  rough 
and  uncouth,  of  course,  and  there  are  vast  areas 
which,  minus  the  Indian  and  the  buffalo,  are 
much  as  they  were  before  the  advent  of  civiliza 
tion.  But  pressing  hard  upon  neglected  wastes, 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS.  7 

and  fast  obliterating  all  traces  of  that  wild  West 
which  "  Buffalo  Bill "  delights  to  illustrate,  are 
the  farms  and  homes  of  the  new-comers.  On 
every  hand  are  seen  the  results  they  have  ac 
complished.  Study  as  you  travel,  and  you  will 
find  the  middle  West  as  interesting  as  a  novel. 
You  can  see  history  created.  The  cities  are 
monuments  to  a  people  who  in  the  future,  if 
not  to-day,  will  be  famous  for  their  thrift  and 
energy. 

If  one's  aim  is  enjoyment,  he  should  take  the 
West  in  sections.  Try  to  see  the  entire  region 
in  one  summer,  and  you  will  lose  the  charm 
which  the  more  leisurely  traveller  gains.  He 
who  pays  a  flying  visit  to  Europe,  giving  an 
hour  to  the  Louvre,  a  day  to  Venice,  a  night  to 
Paris,  returns  an  ignoramus,  confused  and  tired. 
So  with  the  West:  if  too  great  haste  is  made 
the  observer  becomes  confused.  No  particular 
spot  is  photographed  on  his  mind.  All  is  a 
jumble  of  prairie,  mountain;  river,  and  valley. 

In  order,  therefore,  that  we  may  return  from 
our  summer  holiday  refreshed  in  body  and  in 
mind,  let  us  not  journey  far,'  nor  hastily.  At 
Omaha  we  can  mark  our  course.  It  is  not  so 
much  a  question  where  it  shall  lead,  as  it  is 


8  SHOSHONE. 

where  it  shall  not  lead.  Before  us  lies  the  West: 
close  at  hand  the  middle  West ;  in  the  far  dis 
tance  the  Pacific  West.  Colorado,  of  course,  is 
one  objective  point.  Through  that  State  extend 
the  Rockies,  ever  attractive  and  alluring;  and 
there  too  is  Denver,  the  untiring  city  that  to-day 
is  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  country.  Then, 
from  Colorado,  what  more  natural  than  that 
Utah  should  be  visited,  —  Utah,  the  stronghold 
of  Mormonism,  the  land  of  sunshine  and  culti 
vated  valleys  and  inland  salty  sea?  But  there 
we  pause,  and  stifling  the  longing  for  lands 
still  farther  westward,  turn  northward  through 
Idaho,  and  then  eastward  through  the  National 
Park,  our  "  Wonderland,"  with  its  spouting  gey 
sers,  its  gorgeously  colored  canons,  and  forests 
of  sweet-smelling  trees. 

This,  then,  is  our  course.  We  will  make  a 
circle  of  it,  nearly;  for  with  Omaha  as  our 
starting-point,  we  will  make  St.  Paul  the  end  of 
our  journey;  and  in  the  month  or  more  that 
we  are  "  on  the  wing,"  much  of  the  glorious 
scenery  of  the  middle  West  will  be  ours  to  en 
joy.  In  our  path  will  be  cities  that  cannot  fail 
to  command  admiration ;  views  over  which  our 
artist  will  go  into  ecstasies.  We  shall  climb 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS.  9 

mountains,  follow  the  course  of  winding  streams, 
loiter  at  the  Shoshone  Falls,  —  higher  and  wider 
than  those  of  Niagara,  —  and,  toward  the  end  of 
our  time,  wander  at  will  among  the  curious  for 
mations  of  the  Yellowstone. 

When  it  was  first  proposed  to  build  the  Union 
Pacific  Railway,  the  idea  was  regarded  as  vision 
ary,  hazardous,  and  foolish.  Now  that  the  road 
is  an  accomplished  fact,  one  easily  forgets  that 
its  construction  ever  appeared  impossible.  It 
is  the  pioneer  line  westward  from  the  Missouri; 
and  to-day,  after  escaping  from  its  net-work  of 
branches  in  Nebraska,  extends  to  Denver,  Chey 
enne,  and  Ogden.  By  lease  and  purchase  it  has 
also  its  Pacific  coast  terminus,  and  has  pene 
trated  the  rich  mineral  fields  of  Montana.  If 
only  the  early  disbelievers  in  the  Union  Pacific 
could  see  it  now,  how  strong  would  be  their 
desire  to  hide  from  the  gaze  of  the  world ! 

The  course  of  the  Union  Pacific  from  Omaha 
to  Denver  is  through  Nebraska  to  Denver  Junc 
tion,  and  thence  southwest  to  the  famous  Colo 
rado  city.  The  river  Platte  is  followed  nearly 
the  entire  distance,  and  one  is  led  through  a 
region  that  is  fast  becoming  famous  for  its  farms 
and  vast  agricultural  areas. 


TO  SHOSHONE. 

It  is  often  said  that  the  plains  are  dull  and 
monotonous.  He  who  is  alive  to  the  beauties 
of  Nature,  or  who  is  interested  in  whatever  is 
novel,  can  never -agree  to  this.  Their  very  his 
tory  gives  them  interest.  Some  of  the  fiercest 
battles  that  the  pioneers  ever  waged  were  fought 
on  the  ground  that  we  too  often  pass  over  with 
out  a  thought  of  the  events  of  twenty  years 
ago.  Every  inch  of  the  way  across  Nebraska 
was  contested.  Recalling  the  past,  I  can  still 
see  the  long  trains  of  emigrants,  bound  for  the 
new  El  Dorado ;  and  at  night,  when  there  are 
prairie  fires  to  be  seen,  there  comes  vividly  be 
fore  me  the  picture  of  those  guarded  halts  of 
long  ago,  when  smaller  camp-fires  were  lighted, 
and  men  hardly  dared  to  sleep  for  fear  of  lurk 
ing  savages  watching  for  a  chance  to  begin  their 
work  of  murder  and  destruction. 

Life  on  the  plains  is  less  hazardous  to-day 
than  it  was  before  the  advent  of  the  railway; 
but  I  doubt  if  the  labor  of  living  is  less  severe. 
One  is  not  very  apt  to  give  particular  thought 
as  to  how  men  gain  a  foothold,  nor  to  the  man 
ner  in  which  they  begin  their  work  of  making 
farms  out  of  the  dull-hued  prairie  land.  And 
yet  the  modus  operandi  might  very  likely  be 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS.  n 

studied  with  advantage.  The  task  is  not  an 
easy  one,  we  may  be  sure,  and  there  are  trials 
long  and  severe.  There  are  many  foreigners 
among  the  Nebraska  farmers,  and  many  of  the 
new  towns  are  German  in  everything  but  their 
appearance.  That,  to  be  frank,  is  American  and 
Western ;  not  interesting  to  look  at,  but  thor 
oughly  comforting  to  all  who  may  be  interested 
in  the  growth  of  our  country.  The  rapidity 
with  which  Nebraska  villages  grow  is  most 
astonishing.  The  only  pity  is  that  with  age 
and  size  they  do  not  increase  in  beauty. 

Early  in  the  spring  the  plains  are  brilliant 
with  carpetings  of  van-colored  flowers.  They 
are  scattered  like  brilliants  over  the  vast  rolling1 

o 

billows  of  earth,  and,  in  contrast  with  the  green 
of  the  grasses,  give  the  country  a  richness  of 
coloring  which  is  indescribably  attractive.  As 
summer  draws  nearer  the  delicately  tinted  visi 
tors  of  spring-time  give  way  to  an  universal 
brownness.  By  July  all  freshness,  and  all  color 
ing  save  that  of  brown,  are  lost.  But  the  blue- 
ness  of  the  sky  remains,  and  that,  together  with 
the  mellow  brown  of  the  plains,  gives  a  suffi 
cient  contrast  of  tint  to  make  the  scene  far  from 
commonplace. 


12  SHOSHONE. 

I  can  never  decide  which  portion  of  the  day 
I  like  best  when  on  the  prairies.  Morning  is 
delightfully  fresh.  The  sun  is  a  ball  of  fire 
when  its  first  flashes  of  golden  light  come 
across  the  unbroken  stretches,  and  the  prairie 
dogs,  demurely  sitting  on  their  hind  legs,  give 
it  noisy  greeting.  Through  the  night  you  have 
been  asleep.  The  dull  rumble  of  the  cars  has 
soothed  you  to  a  rest  such  as  you  have  not  had 
for  months.  Waking  refreshed  in  mind  and 
body,  and  breathing  in  the  fresh,  clear  air  as 
you  stand  on  the  rear  platform  looking  over  the 
quiet  country,  life  ceases  to  be  a  dull  reality. 
You  catch  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  and  are  alert. 
Then  comes  the  long,  idle  day.  The  towns  you 
pass  are  all  in  embryo.  Some  are  more  rudely 
built  than  others,  but  all  are  new,  and  each  lays 
claim  to  distinction  as  being  the  centre  of  some 
region  sure  to  attract  in  the  future  an  enormous 
population.  Here  the  railway  follows  a  wind 
ing  stream,  that  now  hides  beneath  its  sandy 
bed  and  again  crawls  lazily  over  it,  and  then 
passes  through  fields  of  growing  corn,  or,  like  a 
ship,  rides  gallantly  over  the  rolling  mounds  that 
have  been  so  often  likened  to  the  waves  of  a 
noiseless  sea. 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS.  13 

Nebraska  may  be  said  to  have  already  had 
three  distinct  epochs  in  its  history.  The  first 
was  that  in  which  the  Indians  held  undisputed 
sway ;  the  second  that  in  which  the  forerunners 
of  the  present  civilization  began  to  make  their 
memorable  overland  journeys ;  and  the  third 
that  of  the  present  progress.  Of  the  first  we 
have  many  traditions  and  some  tangible  infor 
mation  handed  down  by  the  ultra-adventurous 
who  lived  for  a  time  among  the  Indians  and 
studied  their  mode  of  life.  Of  the  second  we 
are  better  informed.  In  that  second  period 
brave  old  Ben  Holliday  had  established  his 
famous  stage-line  to  and  across  the  Rockies, 
and  such  observing  travellers  as  Bayard  Taylor 
and  Samuel  Bowles  had  made  pilgrimages  to  the 
still  doubtful  quantity  familiarly  known  as  "  the 
West."  The  amount  of  romance  crowded  into 
the  period  immediately  preceding  that  which 
witnessed  the  advent  of  the  railways  would 
make  many  an  interesting  volume.  Who  to 
day  can  begin  to  realize  the  hardships  of  the 
pioneers?  If  ever  chivalry  existed  in  this  coun 
try,  it  had  its  reign  while  the  emigrant  trains 
were  slowly  traversing  our  Western  plains.  Kit 
Garson,  Buffalo  Bill,  and  other  famous  scouts 
have  an  unique  place  in  history. 


14  SHOSHONE. 

Little  can  be  said  of  the  third  great  period  of 
Nebraska's  history  beyond  that  which  is  already 
known.  The  census  will  show  the  rapidity  with 
which  the  country  is  being  settled ;  and  one  has 
only  to  visit  the  region  from  year  to  year  to  note 
its  steady  progress  in  material  development.  In 
the  near  past  Nebraska  was  chiefly  famous  as  a 
grazing  country.  To-day  it  is  one  of  the  great 
farming  regions  of  the  middle  West.  Time  was 
when  the  rainfall  was  insufficient  to  grow  crops ; 
but  now  even  this  disadvantage  no  longer  ex 
ists.  Year  by  year  the  rainfall  increases.  In 
explanation  of  this  phenomenon  —  if  it  be  a 
phenomenon  —  various  causes  are  assigned  :  one 
theory  being  that  moisture  is  attracted  by  cul 
tivation  of  the  soil ;  another  that  railroads  are 
followed  by  rain-clouds ;  another  that  the  old- 
time  hardness  of  the  soil  no  longer  exists,  so 
that  water  is  retained  in  the  earth,  and,  evaporat 
ing,  creates  clouds  that  formerly  had  no  source 
of  existence.  Whatever  the  reason  may  be, 
however,  the  fact  remains  that  Nebraska,  as  well 
as  its  neighbors,  has  changed  for  the  better,  and 
can  no  longer,  by  any  possibility,  be  regarded 
as  a  part  of  the  Great  American  Desert  which 
in  our  childhood  days  was  represented  as  cover 
ing  an  alarmingly  large  area  of  our  country. 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS.  1 7 

One  truth  regarding  it  is  that  you  do  not  be 
come  acquainted  with  its  best  or  more  interest 
ing  features  by  simply  travelling  through  that 
portion  of  the  country  which  the  railway  has 
chosen.  One  has  passing  glimpses  of  the  many 
"  prairie  towns,"  which  are  so  sure  an  indication 
of  the  actual  progress  being  made ;  and  there 
are  isolated  "  dugouts "  scattered  along  the 
way.  But  the  largest  and  most  productive  farms 
are  mostly  well  away  from  the  railroad,  and 
the  peculiarities  of  life  in  a  country  so  lately 
settled  as  Nebraska  are  only  discovered  by 
personal  investigation.  Study  the  pioneer  Ne- 
braskan,  and  you  will  not  only  be  amused  but 
instructed.  His  life  is  an  altogether  strange 
one,  not  resembling  in  the  least  that  of  any 
other  man  whose  progress  you  have  ever  chanced 
to  follow.  His  home  is  a  dugout,  or,  if  fortune 
has  smiled  upon  him,  an  adobe,  with  a  roof  of 
sods,  and  his  nearest  neighbor  lives  twenty  miles 
away.  And  yet  I  question  if  you  will  anywhere 
find  more  contentment  than  exists  in  these  hum 
ble  abodes.  I  know  not  what  it  is, — the  cli 
mate,  the  hope  of  better  times  to  come,  perhaps, 
—  but  there  is  something  which  gives  the  home 
steader  that  which  few  of  us  ever  have,  —  the 


1 8  SHOSHONE. 

power  to  smile  when  the  outlook  is  darkest ;  a 
brave  heart,  no  matter  what  the  trials  are.  You 
will  find  lone  women  in  the  single-room  dug 
outs,  and  you  will  also  find  whole  families  there. 
One  can  never  fail  to  detect  any  real  progress 
in  the  family  welfare ;  for  with  better  circum 
stances  comes  the  cabin,  —  a  degree  above  that 
of  the  dugout,  —  and  following  the  cabin  the 
ugly  but  still  comfortable  frame  house. 

Mr.  Frank  H.  Spearman,  in  a  paper  on  the 
American  Desert,  published  in  "  Harper's  Mag 
azine  "  for  July,  1888,  says  that  the  "  first  settler, 
with  rare  exceptions,  ekes  out  a  half-starved 
existence  until  he  can  make  proof  on  his  land ; 
by  this  time  he  is  eager  to  sell  to  one  of  the 
second  crop  of  pioneers,  —  men  wfro  bring  a 
little  money  with  them  to  fight  the  battle  with. 
As  a  rule,  though,  the  necessity  of  incurring 
debts  to  keep  things  going  beats  this  second 
class,  and  they  in  turn  give  way  to  the  thrifty 
farmers  who  come  prepared  and  able  to  stay. 
For  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  original 
homesteader  is  necessarily  a  farmer.  You  will 
find  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  among  them, 
from  ministers  to  cowboys,  from  bankrupt  busi 
ness  men  to  the  latest  exile  from  Russia.  All 


FIRST   IMPRESSIONS.  19 

of  these,  together  with  professional  men  and 
tradesmen  in  the  villages  and  a  fair  sprinkling 
of  bona  fide  farmers,  appear  in  the  ranks  of  the 
homesteaders." 

As  illustrative  of  the  rapid  rate  at  which  Ne 
braska  is  now  being  settled,  Mr.  Spearman 
quotes  from  an  address  delivered  at  the  Chey 
enne  County,  Nebraska,  fair  in  the  fall  of  1887. 
"  General  Morrow,"  he  writes,  "  instances  eighty- 
three  thousand  acres  of  land  entered  by  home 
steaders  in  a  single  county  during  three  months 
of  1887.  All  the  land  officers  of  the  West  tell 
the  same  story;  their  statistics  sound  like  fables. 
The  United  States  Land  Office  for  the  extreme 
southwestern  part  of  Nebraska,  embracing  but 
a  few  counties,  remitted  last  year  to  Washington 
$500,000  to  pay  for  homesteads  and  pre-emp 
tion."  Continuing,  the  writer  says  that  Omaha, 
Kansas  City,  and  other  large  centres  are  "  simply 
a  reflection  of  the  farms  of  Kansas  and  Ne 
braska,  and  are  dependent  entirely  on  the  desert 
for  their  business." 

It  is  a  little  startling — because  showing  into 
what  errors  of  prophecy  our  ignorance  may  lead 
us  —  to  notice,  as  Mr.  Spearman  does,  that  in 
1858  the  "North  American  Review"  said  that 


20  SHOSHONE. 

our  people,  at  that  date,  when  there  was  scarcely 
a  hamlet  forty  miles  west  of  the  Missouri  River, 
"  had  already  reached  their  inland  frontier." 
Before  the  end  of  1880  the  population  of  Ne 
braska  numbered  half  a  million.  To-day,  Mr. 
Spearman  says,  the  State  has  twice  that  many 
people,  and  the  cities  of  from  three  thousand  to 
fifteen  thousand  inhabitants  that  have  attained 
their  present  size  within  the  past  few  years  are 
evidence  in  themselves  of  the  substantial  devel 
opment  of  the  new  West. 

The  average  altitude  of  the  country  bordering 
the  Missouri  River  is  from  fifteen  hundred  to 
eighteen  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 
At  the  base  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  the  eleva 
tion  has  increased  to  nearly  six  thousand  feet. 
The  slope  from  mountain  to  river  is  gradual  and 
hardly  perceptible.  You  are  every  day  con 
scious  of  certain  atmospheric  changes  and  of 
the  fact  that  the  sunshine  has  at  length  become 
continuous.  But  no  hills  are  climbed,  and  at 
a  casual  glance  your  surroundings  are  always 
the  same. 

"  Nebraska  is  noted  for  the  great  number  of 
its  sunshiny  days,"  says  the  writer  whom  I  have 
so  often  quoted.  "  The  catarrhs  and  rheums, 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS.  21 

the  neuralgia  and  the  consumption,  of  the  East 
are  unknown,  except  such  cases  as  were  con 
tracted  elsewhere.  Although  in  summer  the 
thermometer  ranges  very  high,  sultry  heat  is, 
of  course,  an  impossibility  at  such  an  altitude. 
To  be  perfectly  comfortable  in  the  hottest 
weather,  it  is  necessary  only  to  keep  out  of  the 
direct  rays  of  the  sun;  the  nights  are  always 
cool."  The  soil  of  the  State  is  easily  cultivated, 
and  is  of  surprising  richness.  It  extends  to  a 
great  depth,  and  is  most  easily  tilled.  Trees  are 
-fast  being  planted  in  and  around  every  new 
town,  and  irrigating  canals  have  been  dug  to 
convey  the  waters  of  the  numerous  "  creeks," 
or  small  streams,  to  wherever  the  soil  needed 
moisture.  The  destructive  Dakota  blizzard 
sweeps  down  upon  the  open  prairies  at  times, 
but  such  visitations  are  rare.  As  a  rule  the 
winters  are  mild  and  invigorating.  One  rarely 
feels  fatigue;  and  life,  to  those  once  initiated, 
has  charms  which  we,  perhaps,  noting  so  care 
lessly,  cannot  appreciate  nor  understand. 

It  is  an  all-day's  journey  from  Omaha  to  Den 
ver.  Leaving  the  former  city  in  the  morning, 
you  retire  at  night  with  the  consciousness  that 
all  around  you  —  to  the  north,  south,  east,  and 


SHOSHONE. 

west  — there  is  only  the  rolling  prairie,  brown, 
far-reaching,  restful  to  one  whose  eyes  are  tired 
of  other  sights.  In  the  morning  the  scene  has 
changed.  Before  you — a  dark-blue  wall  cut 
ting  its  way  north  and  south  —  are  the  Rockies, 
the  Alps  of  America.  Their  higher  peaks  are 
white  with  snow,  and  glisten  like  pinnacles  of 
purest  ice. 

How  beautiful  they  are,  these  mountains  of 
stupendous  height,  how  grandly  outlined,  of  what 
overpowering  size,  only  he  who  has  looked  upon 
them  from  the  plains  can  understand.  They  are 
as  fascinating  as  is,  to  many,  the  ocean.  You 
long  to  reach  them,  to  be  near  enough  to  study 
their  contours,  to  see  their  ever-changing  lights 
and  shadows.  In  the  early  morning  they  are 
softened  by  a  thin  blue  haze.  They  seem  as 
light  as  air,  and  one  doubts  if  the  snow  patches 
are  not  clouds.  When  first  sighting  the  higher 
peaks  you  are  forty  or  sixty,  even  a  hundred, 
miles  east  of  Denver;  and  yet  the  air  is  so 
clear,  the  distance  so  deceptive,  that  you  can 
not  realize  how  far  away  you  are  from  what  you 
see.  Many  a  worn-out  pioneer,  trudging  beside 
his  wagon  with  its  painted  sign,  "  Pike's  Peak  or 
Bust,"  has  thought  his  journey  ended  when  the 


FIRST  IMPRESSIONS.  23 

snow  peaks  first  flashed  their  light  upon  him. 
And  yet  I  venture  to  say  that  many  a  hope 
was  doomed  to  disappointment,  and  that,  even 
within  sight  of  the  long-sought  goal,  the  journey 
of  life  was  ended. 

But  for  us,  in  our  Pullman,  no  danger  menaces. 
As  we  look,  the-  huge  bulwarks  grow  more  and 
more  clearly  outlined.  Lesser  peaks  leap  into 
view  beyond  the  limits  of  the  plains ;  the  forest- 
crowned  foothills  begin  to  lend  their  bit  of  color 
ing  to  the  scene.  Soon  the  outlying  towns  of 
Colorado's  great  city  are  crowded  about  us. 
The  listlessness  of  portions  of  the  day  before 
departs.  We  have  crossed  the  plains  and  are 
on  the  outskirts  of  Denver. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   CITY   OF   DENVER. 

NO  one  would  have  dared  claim  for  Denver, 
a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  the  proud 
position  that  it  holds  at  this  time.  Then  it  was 
a  mere  village,  without  wealth,  without  influence, 
remote,  and  unsightly.  Now  it  is  a  metropolis, 
a  centre  of  refinement,  a  place  rich  in  itself,  and 
the  admiration  of  all  beholders.  More  than 
keeping  pace  with  the  phenomenal  growth  of 
a  region  that  is  still  in  its  infancy,  so  far  as 
development  is  concerned,  it  has  lost  no  oppor 
tunity  and  neglected  no  chance.  Active,  keenly 
alive,  progressive,  and  vigorous,  it  has  turned  to 
its  own  account  the  fortunes  of  the  State  of 
which  it  is  the  capital,  and  has  secured  by  every 
means  in  its  power  the  reputation  it  to-day  en 
joys.  When  the  history  of  the  far  West  is 
written,  and  the  causes  of  that  growth  and  de 
velopment  which  we  now  applaud  are  analyzed, 
it  will  be  seen  that  Denver  has  often  been  the 


(fs 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  2J 

power  behind  the  throne.  Her  capital  and  her 
people  have  protected  new  ventures,  and  kept 
alive  the  confidence  in  the  future  of  the  State. 
Through  days  of  financial  disaster,  through  all 
vicissitudes,  there  can  be  found  no  diminution 
of  the  faith  that  at  last  has  been  rewarded  by 
the  growth  of  a  great  city  in  close  proximity  to 
the  region  that  as  long  ago  as  1806  tempted  the 
valiant  Pike  to  cross  the  unknown  plains  lying 
beyond  the  muddy  waters  of  the  Missouri. 

Like  a  romance  is  the  story  of  Colorado's 
growth,  and  not  less  so  is  that  of  the  growth  of 
Denver.  We  miss  finding  in  its  history  the 
fanciful  doings  of  Spanish  adventurer  and  pious 
padre.  No  fierce  wars  were  ever  waged  for 
its  possession,  no  glittering  pageants  were  ever 
held  in  the  long  wide  streets,  with  their  vista  of 
mountains  and  plains.  There  was  little  that  was 
poetical,  but  much  that  was  practical.  Still  the 
story  is  as  interesting  as  though  there  had  been 
these  well-worn  episodes  to  draw  upon  and  to 
magnify  and  render  picturesque ;  for  the  tale 
is  of  how  man  came  to  a  wilderness  and  lived 
down  all  trials  and  all  disappointments,  how  he 
fought  against  great  odds  and  battled  with  hard 
ships,  and  came  out  victorious.  And  if  we  are 


28  SHOSHONE. 

not  satisfied  with  the  practical  realities  pre 
sented,  and  still  desire  some  glitter  of  gold  to 
lighten  the  narrative,  we  have  but  to  turn  to 
the  mountains.  In  their  wild  fastnesses  will 
be  found  the  foundation  of  all  the  romance  we 
wish. 

It  is  not  an  easy  matter  to  describe  Denver. 
It  is  so  similar  to  other  cities  in  many  respects, 
that  one  feels  doubtful  about  the  propriety  or 
the  necessity  of  mentioning  many  of  its  promi 
nent  features,  and  is  in  danger  of  forgetting  that 
what  may  seem  only  ordinary  is,  in  reality,  most 
extraordinary.  If  the  city  were  less  substantial 
in  appearance,  or  possessed  certain  glaring  pe 
culiarities,  it  would  be  much  easier  to  describe. 
But  it  so  belies  its  age,  and  seems  so  much 
older  than  it  really  is,  that  one  falls  to  taking 
for  granted  that  which  should  be  surprising. 
Wide,  shaded  streets,  handsome  residences  sur 
rounded  by  spacious  grounds,  noble  public 
buildings,  and  the  many  luxuries  of  city  life 
tempt  one  to  forget  that  Denver  has  gained  all 
these  excellences  in  less  than  twenty-five  years. 
Every  tree  that  one  sees  has  been  planted  and 
tended ;  every  attractive  feature  is  the  result  of 
good  judgment  and  careful  industry.  Nature 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  31 

gave  Denver  the  mountains  which  the  city  looks 
out  upon ;  but  beyond  those  hills  and  the  bright 
sky  and  the  limitless  plains,  she  gave  nothing  to 
the  place,  which  one  has  only  to  see  to  admire. 
The  site  originally  was  a  barren  waste,  dry.  and 
hilly.  Never  was  it  green,  except  perchance  in 
early  spring ;  and  not  a  tree  grew,  save  a  few  low 
bushes  clinging  to  the  banks  of  the  river. 

Surrounded  on  the  east,  south,  and  north  by 
the  prairies,  and  on  the  west  by  the  mountains, 
with  their  treasures  of  gold,  silver,  coal,  iron, 
and  lead,  Denver  is  the  natural  concentrator  of 
all  the  productions  of  Colorado.  From  it  are 
sent  forth  the  capital,  the  machinery,  and  the 
thousand  and  one  other  necessities  of  a  con 
stantly  increasing  number  of  people  engaged  in 
developing  a  new  country. 

From  Capitol  Hill,  a  rounded  height  formerly 
on  the  eastern  outskirts  of  Denver,  but  now  not 
far  from  its  centre,  is  obtained  the  best  view  of 
the  city.  At  one's  feet  the  contrast  between 
the  present  and  the  past  is  most  marked.  Gone 
are  the  sanded  gardens  with  their  weeds ;  the 
cabins  of  earlier  days  are  nowhere  to  be  found. 
A  city  lies  grouped  around  the  hill.  From  the 
height  you  can  look  down  upon  the  score  of 


32  SHOSHONE. 

church  steeples  and  the  flat  roofs  of  business 
blocks ;  and  in  the  distance  lie  the  plains,  no 
longer  dry  and  brown,  but  dotted  with  farms 
and  the  bright  new  houses  of  those  who  have 
come  to  the  West  and  accepted  it  as  their 
home. 

Denver  was  born  of  the  first  Pike's  Peak  gold 
excitement  in  1858-59,  and  in  1860  was  a  strag 
gling  camp  of  log-cabins  and  tents.  From  this 
time  the  population  of  what  is  now  Colorado 
rapidly  increased.  In  August,  1860,  there  were 
as  many  as  sixty  thousand  people  engaged  in 
mining,  and  one  hundred  and  seventy-five 
quartz-mills  had  been  erected,  at  a  cost  of 
$1,800,000.  Denver  during  this  era  became 
the  acknowledged  base  of  supplies.  The  camp 
was  centrally  located,  and  was,  moreover,  a  sta 
tion  on  the  Ben  Holliday  route  across  the  conti 
nent.  When  the  mining  excitement  subsided, 
as  it  had  by  1865,  Denver  was  too  firmly  estab 
lished  to  be  materially  affected  by  the  change 
in  the  fortunes  of  the  State.  Its  population, 
indeed,  was  considerably  larger  than  when  the 
excitement  ran  highest.  While  many  of  the 
districts  failed  to  meet  expectations,  there  were 
a  few  that  proved  richer  than  had  been  antici- 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  33 

pated.  Among  these  was  the  Clear  Creek  terri 
tory,  forty  miles  west  of  Denver.  The  towns,  or 
camps,  in  that  district  continued  to  hold  their 
own,  and  were  the  main-stay  of  the  settlement 
near  the  junction  of  Cherry  Creek  and  the 
Platte.  To  Central  City,  Black  Hawk,  and 
Georgetown,  Denver  may  be  said  to  owe  its 
continuance  during  that  period  when  the  future 
of  Colorado  was  most  uncertain.  Had  they 
failed,  and  the  mines  there  proved  unproductive, 
it  may  well  be  doubted  if  Denver  could  have 
maintained  its  existence. 

"  The  Queen  City  of  the  Plains,"  as  the  Den- 
verites  fondly  call  their  much-admired  city,  has 
not  escaped  its  trials.  In  1873  the  financial 
shadow  in  the  East  swept  to  it  across  the  plains, 
and  in  1875  and  1876  the  grasshopper  plague, 
by  which  all  crops  were  destroyed,  caused  large 
sums  of  money  to  be  drawn  from  Denver  to  pay 
for  wheat  and  flour.  The  banks  were  seriously 
cramped  during  this  unfortunate  time,  and  all 
speculation  ended.  But  the  failures  were  un 
important,  and  the  faithful  only  worked  the 
harder  to  prove  that  Colorado  was  the  centre  of 
vast  wealth. 

In    1877   the   cloud   lifted.     The   harvest  was 
3 


34  SHOSHONE. 

abundant,  the  export  of  beeves  was  the  largest 
ever  known.  More  than  $  1 5 ,000,000  was  added 
to  the  wealth  of  the  miners,  stockmen,  and  farm 
ers.  Speculation  revived.  Money  became  easy, 
and  confidence  wide-spread.  Capital  poured 
into  the  State,  and  there  \vas  a  development  of 
industries  never  known  before.  Leadville  was 
born,  and  he  who  had  a  dollar  to  invest  sought 
Colorado  securities.  Railways  fought  for  right 
of  way  to  mining  towns,  and  the  plains  were 
dotted  with  wagon  trains.  For  nearly  six  years 
the  excitement  continued  ;  and  Denver,  through 
all  the  activity  alive  to  her  own  interests,  which 
she  carefully  guarded  and  nourished,  throve  as 
never  before. 

And  then,  in  1883,  came  the  inevitable  reac 
tion.  The  pulse  of  trade  and  speculation  had 
beat  too  rapidly.  Some  ventures  failed,  and 
others  were  abandoned  because  of  these  failures. 
The  reckless  suddenly  became  conservative.  In 
vestors  hesitated  to  invest.  Loans  were  called, 
and  a  depression  of  values  followed.  But  con 
sidering  the  advance  that  had  been  scored,  the 
retrograde  movement  was  immaterial.  In  the 
language  of  the  stock  exchanges,  it  was  a 
"  healthy  reaction,"  and  eventually  did  more 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  35 

good  than  harm.     It  enabled  men  to  rest  and 
to  study  the  situation. 

By  the  end  of  1886  confidence  slowly  re 
turned.  In  that  year  the  State  again  entered 
upon  a  season  of  prosperity ;  and  in  sympathy 
Denver's  sun  shone  once  more,  and  its  clouds 
were  dispersed.  By  January,  1887,  the  tide 
had  perceptibly  turned.  The  activity  in  com 
mercial  circles  became  greater  than  ever.  Old 
valuations  were  more  than  re-established,  and 
the  population  was  nearly  seventy  thousand. 
It  was  found  that  the  mines  had  produced  a 
grand  total  of  over  $26,000,000  in  1886,  and 
therefore  mining  received  a  new  impetus.  In 
1885  permits  for  the  erection  of  four  hundred 
and  three  new  improvements  in  Denver  were 
issued  by  the  Building  Inspector;  in  1886  he 
issued  seven  hundred  and  nine  permits,  the 
cost  of  the  improvements  being  $2,000,661. 
In  1885  the  total  valuation  of  the  State  was 
$i  1 5,450,193.90  ;  in  1886  it  was  $124,269,710.06  ; 
and  in  1887  amounted  to  $141,314,329,  the 
greatest  gain  being  in  Arapahoe  County.  Among 
the  banks  of  Denver  the  year  1886  showed  that 
the  surplus  funds  and  undivided  profits  had 
decreased  $128,945.26  as  compared  with  1885, 


36  SHOSHONE. 

while  the  deposits  had  increased  $2,107,633.02, 
or  twenty-three  per  cent.  The  loans  and  over 
drafts  had  also  increased  twenty-three  per  cent. 

The  welcome  facts,  giving  assurance  of  prog 
ress,  and  showing  a  more  healthy  condition  of 
affairs  in  the  various  trades  and  mercantile  in 
stitutions,  afforded  a  promising  outlook  for  the 
new  year.  Nor,  as  it  proved,  were  the  signs 
premature  or  misleading.  The  real-estate  sales 
for  1887  amounted  to  $29,345,451.82,  an  in 
crease  of  $18,324,242.91  over  those  for  1886. 
Six  churches,  three  school-houses,  nearly  nine 
hundred  dwellings,  several  new  business  blocks, 
and  thirty-five  miscellaneous  buildings  were 
erected.  The  total  value  of  improvements  in 
the  city  proper  was  $2,971,770,  and  for  Denver 
and  its  suburbs  was  nearly  $5,000,000. 

It  would  be  untrue  to  say  of  Denver  that  it 
was  "  literary  to  the  core,"  or  that  it  was  the 
"  Athens  of  the  West."  So  far  as  I  know,  it 
never  claimed  such  distinction.  It  is  not  a  lit 
erary  centre,  and  yet  it  does  not  want  for  litera 
ture.  A  lecture  on  "Burns"  might  not  prove 
so  attractive  as  one  on  "Our  Mines"  or  "Our 
Commerce ;  "  but  because  this  is  so  the  infer 
ence  need  not  be  drawn  that  a  Denverite  never 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER. 


37 


reads,  or  that  he  does  not  know  who  Bobby 
Burns  was.  The  people  of  Denver  have  not  yet 
gotten  over  being  practical.  There  never  has 
been  a  Browning  craze,  and  Oscar  Wilde  was 
caricatured  in  the  streets.  There  are  ripe  schol 
ars  and  diligent  readers  in  Denver,  as  in  other 
places  of  equal  size.  Indeed,  the  claim  is  made 
that  there  are  more  resident  college  graduates 


THE   STATE   CAPITOL. 


than  in  any  other  city  of  the  same  number  of 
people.  Therefore  one  may  be  safe  in  believing 
that  the  literary  sense  is  keener  than  would  casu 
ally  appear  to  be  the  case.  And  yet  in  the 


38  SHOSHONE. 

sense  that  Boston  is  literary  Denver  is  not. 
Perhaps  in  the  daily  papers  there  is  evidence  at 
times  of  a  lack  of  careful  attention  to  Addison. 
But  when  it  comes  to  news-gathering,  let  the 
journals  of  the  East  beware.  The  history  of  the 
world's  doings  is  laid  beside  the  plate  of  every 
Denverite  in  the  morning,  and  no  question  of  the 
day  is  too  profound  for  the  editor  to  discuss. 

Denver  has  not  yet  become  so  literary  as  to 
warrant  the  establishment  of  large  publishing 
houses,  but  there  are  several  wholesale  and  re 
tail  bookstores,  and  in  one  is  a  list  of  books  as 
large  as  may  be  found  in  any  New  York  book 
store.  This  fact  is  not,  perhaps,  important  in 
itself,  but  as  evidence  of  the  moral  and  intel 
lectual  growth  of  the  city,  it  is.  Denver  is  young 
in  years,  let  us  remember,  and  is  the  outcome  of 
a  place  having  little  regard  for  things  of  a  book 
ish  nature.  It  is  natural  that  many  crudities 
should  have  been  buried  with  the  pioneers,  and 
yet  it  is  no  less  praiseworthy  that  Denver  should 
so  generally  have  accepted  the  more  modern 
conditions  of  life. 

Socially,  Denver  may  be  called  a  charming 
place.  The  security  afforded  by  the  active  en 
forcement  of  good  laws  has  drawn  together  a 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  39 

class  of  people  such  as  is  found  in  towns  of  a 
much  more  prosaic  origin  and  greater  age. 
Society,  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  is  cos 
mopolitan.  There  are  constant  arrivals  and 
departures.  No  titled  foreigner  feels  he  has 
seen  the  "  States  "  if  he  omits.  Denver,  and  our 
own  countrymen  endeavor  to  visit  the  city  during 
their  tour  of  the  West.  People  of  refinement 
make  Denver  their  home  for  a  season,  and  often 
adopt  it  for  a  lifetime.  It  is  astonishing  at  times 
to  notice  the  effect  of  Western  life  upon  natures 
long  accustomed  to  self-contemplation  and  es 
teem.  It  is  the  air  of  Colorado,  perhaps,  that 
so  often  changes  the  Eastern  man,  and  leads 
him  to  appreciate  the  truth  of  the  phrase  regard 
ing  general  equality  which  the  signers  of  the 
Declaration  framed.  Or,  if  not  this,  then  some 
thing  else  works  the  transformation,  and  gives 
us  most  fortunately  a  whole-souled  being  who  is 
glad  to  see  you  when  you  pay  him  a  visit,  and 
who  does  all  in  his  power  to  render  your  stay 
delightful. 

It  must  not  be  imagined,  however,  that  with 
all  the  good-fellowship  there  is  not  the  proper 
amount  of  conservatism.  One  is  not  waylaid 
upon  the  street  and  presented  with  the  freedom 


40  SHOSHONE. 

of  the  houses  he  sees.  Shoddyism  exists,  —  as 
where  does  it  not?  —  and  there  is  a  manifest 
delight  in  certain  quarters  to  make  a  lavish 
display  of  newly  acquired  wealth.  But  circles 
within  the  circle  may  be  found,  and  those  with 
the  shortest  diameter  are  the  most  agreeable  as 
well  as  the  less  conspicuous.  Proper  presenta 
tion  means  as  much  in  Denver  as  it  does  in 
New  York  or  Boston. 

The  three  great  industries  of  Colorado  - 
mining,  agriculture,  and  stock-raising  —  are 
those  from  which  Denver  derives  its  chief  sup 
port.  As  a  mining  region,  Colorado  has  made 
an  enviable  record.  The  total  yield  of  the  State 
in  gold  and  silver  now  exceeds  $200,000,000. 
It  is  estimated  that  one  hundred  thousand  lodes 
have  been  discovered,  besides  numerous  placers. 
Silver  was  not  found  until  1870,  but  in  1886  the 
yield  of  that  metal  amounted  to  $16,450,921. 
Among  the  ores  produced  are  gold,  tellurium, 
copper,  iron,  and  lead.  At  Denver  is  made 
much  of  the  machinery  used  at  the  various 
camps,  and  to  its  furnaces  and  smelters  is 
shipped  a  large  proportion  of  the  precious  ores. 
Shipments  from  the  Boston  and  Colorado  Smelt 
ing  Works  at  Argo,  on  the  outskirts  of  Denver, 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  41 

amounted  in  1887  to  $3767,685,  and  those 
from  the  Omaha  and  Grant  Smelter  in  1886  to 
$8,053,143.  Still  another  smelting  company 
has  been  formed,  which  uses  every  modern 
appliance  and  improvement.  These  three  con 
cerns  make  Denver  the  largest  smelting  point 
outside  of  Leadville,  and  afford  employment  to 
a  small  army  of  men. 

As  an  ore  market,  Denver  is  important.  For 
1887  there  were  15,806  car-loads  of  ore  re 
ceived  in  the  city.  Allowing  13^  tons  to  each 
car,  the  daily  receipts  amounted  to  584  tons. 
The  deposits  at  the  Mint  during  1887  had  a 
value  of  $1,843,891.90,  —  a  gain  over  1886  of 
twenty-eight  per  cent.  The  modern  practice 
of  buying  and  selling  ore  through  men  kno\vn 
as  public  samplers  is  constantly  growing  in 
favor.  The  Denver  Public  Sampling-Works 
handled  and  sold  in  1886  over  44,000,000 
pounds,  or  nearly  22,000  tons,  as  against  13,433 
tons  in  1885.  The  value  of  the  ore  sold  in  1886 
was  $1,243,360.84,  —  an  average  of  $56.59  per 
ton.  The  ore  which  is  received  comes  not  only 
from  Colorado,  but  from  New  Mexico  and  old 
Mexico,  Montana,  Arizona,  Idaho,  Oregon,  Ne 
vada,  and  even  from  South  America. 


42  SHOSHONE. 

Agriculture  in  Colorado  is  comparatively  in 
its  infancy.  Not  until  later  days  has  the  indus 
try  been  given  much  attention.  Now,  however, 
by  a  system  of  irrigation  that  renders  long-neg 
lected  lands  productive,  it  is  fairly  launched. 
The  area  of  farming  land  has  been  widely  ex 
tended.  Immense  tracts  of  government  land 
have  been  put  under  water  and  cultivation. 
Wherever  it  was  possible  on  the  Arkansas,  Rio 
Grande,  San  Juan,  Dolores,  Gunnison,  and  other 
rivers,  canals  for  irrigation  have  been  projected, 
and  water  taken  out,  to  reclaim  vast  areas  that 
were  once  considered  worthless.  In  his  sur 
veys  Professor  Hayden  estimated  that  Colorado 
contained  not  less  than  six  million  acres  of 'agri 
cultural  land.  From  reports  made  by  the  Land- 
Office  in  Denver  up  to  1885,  over  four  million 
acres  of  that  amount  had  been  taken  up.  In 
1885  nearly  nine  hundred  thousand  more  acres 
were  added,  and  in  1886  fully  one  million  acres, 
thus  making  more  than  the  original  estimate. 
The  crops  for  1886  amounted  to  2,100,000  bush 
els  of  wheat,  600,000  bushels  of  oats,  250,000 
bushels  of  barley,  and  175,000  bushels  of  corn. 
The  total  value  of  the  agricultural  products  does 
not  fall  much  below  $12,000,000  annually.  Seed 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  43 

is  purchased  at  the  Denver  markets,  agricultural 
implements  are  made  and  sold  there,  and  the 
cereals  arc  returned  to  the  local  flouring  mills. 

The  third  source  of  Denver's  revenue  is  from 
cattle  and  sheep.  The  herds  are  raised  in  nearly 
every  part  of  the  State,  and  millions  of  money 
are  invested  in  the  industry.  For  1887  the  State 
assessors  estimated  the  number  of  animals  and 
their  valuation  as  follows :  — 

No.  Valuation. 

Horses 148,027  $5,042,480 

Mules 7-56o  544-865 

Sheep 685,725  877,913 

Cattle 894,439  10,634,355 

Hogs 15,833  51,573 

Other  animals 56,963 

According  to  other  estimates  there  are  fully 
1,500,000  sheep  in  Colorado,  the  wool  clip  from 
which  would  be  not  less  than  $1,500,000.  Ex 
act  figures  are  hard  to  obtain.  Cattle  are  be 
ing  constantly  improved  by  the  introduction  of 
"blooded"  stock.  In  1886  there  were  122,678 
cattle  shipped  from  Colorado  to  Eastern  mar 
kets,  as  against  75,579  head  shipped  in  1885. 
Denver  capital  is  largely  invested  in  the  indus 
try,  and  the  fortunes  of  many  of  her  people  have 
been  made  in  it.  The  city  is  the  chief  hide, 


44  SHOSHONE. 

wool,  and  tallow  market  in  the  State,  and  sev 
eral  of  the  banks  are  founded  on  capital  made  in 
former  years  by  the  cattle  kings. 

In  addition  to  these  sources  of  wealth  Den 
ver  has  her  home  commerce,  foundries,  street- 
railway  systems,  and  list  of  taxable  property. 
The  total  revenue  of  the  city  for  1886  was 
$452,648.39,  the  item  for  taxes  alone  being 
$301,362.42.  The  assessed  valuation  of  Ara- 
pahoe  County,  of  which  Denver  is  the  seat,  was 
$11,093,520  in  1878,  $38,374,920  in  1886,  and 
$47,037,574  in  1887.  The  rate  of  taxation  in 
that  time  had  been  reduced  from  20.9  mills  to 
9.7.  The  growth  of  Denver's  manufacturing  in 
dustries  has  been  rapid.  For  1887  the  increase 
was  between  twenty  and  twenty-five  per  cent. 
In  1885  the  total  value  of  the  product  of  manu 
factures  in  the  city  was  $20,293,650;  in  1886,  it 
was  $24,045,006,  and  there  were  219  manufac 
turing  establishments,  employing  4,056  men,  the 
annual  pay-roll  being  $2,100,998.  As  nearly  as 
can  be  approximated,  the  statistics  for  1887  will 
be  as  follows:  number  of  establishments,  240; 
number  of  employees,  5,000;  amount  of  wages, 
$3,000,000;  value  of  product,  $30,000,000. 

The  water  supply  of  Denver  is  more  than  abun- 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  45 

dant.  In  many  instances  water  for  drinking  pur 
poses  is  taken  from  artesian  wells,  more  than  a 
hundred  of  which  have  been  bored  since  1883. 
Some  are  sunk  to  a  depth  of  1,125  feet.  The 
first  flow  was  struck  at  350  feet,  the  second  at 
525,  the  third  at  555,  and  the  fourth  at  625. 
Six  successful  wells  were  bored  in  1885,  and 
eight  in  1886.  Water  from  these  wells  is  de- 
liciously  pure  and  cold,  and  flows  from  the 
faucets  with  sparkling  brilliancy. 

For  irrigation  purposes  water  is  brought  by 
a  system  of  ditches  from  a  source  twelve  miles 
south  of  the  city.  For  other  uses  it  is  taken 
from  the  Platte,  and  forced  by  the  Holly  system 
into  every  building.  There  are  fifty  miles  of 
distributing  mains,  and  the  annual  supply  is 
seventeen  hundred  millions  of  gallons,  —  an  aver 
age  of  nearly  five  million  gallons  per  day.  A 
company  now  proposes  bringing  water  by  grav 
ity  from  Cherry  Creek  to  a  reservoir  overlook 
ing  the  city,  thus  obviating  the  necessity  of 
pumping. 

The  material  attractions  of  Denver  have  not 
been  gained  at  the  expense  of  the  immaterial 
ones.  The  city  prides  itself  upon  its  many 
churches,  schools,  and  public  buildings.  Gas 


46  SHOSHONE. 

and  electricity  are  both  in  use,  and  there  is  an 
extended  horse-railway  system  that  connects  all 
parts  of  the  city  and  reaches  far  into  the  sub 
urbs.  As  a  city  of  churches,  Denver  ranks  next 
to  Brooklyn.  There  are  sixty-two,  all  told,  —  or 
one  for  every  twelve  hundred  inhabitants.  A 
new  Unitarian  church  is  being  erected,  which, 
with  the  land  it  occupies,  will  cost  $55,000; 
the  design  is  Romanesque.  The  Catholics  pur 
pose  soon  to  build  an  imposing  cathedral ;  a 
corporation  with  a  stock  of  $50,000  has  already 
been  organized  for  a  cathedral  fund.  St.  John's 
Cathedral  (Protestant  Episcopal)  is  one  of  the 
prominent  buildings  of  the  city;  the  design  of 
the  crucifixion  in  one  of  the  windows  is  said  to 
be  the  largest  in  the  world. 

Next  to  her  churches,  the  city  is  proud  of  her 
schools.  They  are  numerous  and  ably  man 
aged.  School  district  No.  I  includes  that  part 
of  Denver  lying  east  of  the  Platte  and  Cherry 
Creek,  and  extends  four  miles  down  the  Platte 
and  several  miles  eastward  to  the  plains.  It  is 
of  an  independent  character,  and  was  chartered 
before  the  adoption  of  the  State  constitution. 
The  property  has  an  assessed  valuation  of  about 
$29,000,000.  A  special  tax  levy  of  four  and  a 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  47 

half  mills  is  made  for  school  purposes,  and  from 
five  thousand  to  eight  thousand  children  are  in 
daily  attendance.  A  new  High-School  and  Li 
brary  building  is  now  being  erected.  It  will 
cost  $200,000.  There  are  fourteen  schools  in 
district  No.  i,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty 
teachers  are  employed. 

In  West  Denver  are  five  school  buildings  and 
nearly  two  thousand  pupils.  In  North  Denver 
the  several  institutions  have  an  enrolment  of 
about  twelve  hundred  children.  Besides  the 
public  schools  there  are  the  Denver  University, 
soon  to  have  new  quarters;  Jarvis  Hall,  a 
private  school  for  boys;  St.  Mary's  School, 
under  the  direction  of  the  Sisters  of  Loretto ; 
and  Wolfe  Hall,  an  advanced  seminary  for 
young  ladies. 

As  a  railroad  centre,  Denver  is  fast  becoming 
as  important  as  either  Kansas  City  or  Omaha. 
The  new  Union  Station  is  one  of  the  largest 
and  handsomest  buildings  in  Denver.  It  is  built 
almost  entirely  of  native  stone,  and  is  five  hun 
dred  and  three  feet  long  by  sixty-nine  feet  wide. 
The  central  tower  is  one  hundred  and  sixty-five 
feet  high,  and  contains  an  illuminated  clock. 
Two  hundred  thousand  pieces  of  baggage  were 


48  SHOSHONE. 

handled  there  in  1886,  and  the  passenger  busi 
ness  was  larger  than  ever  before. 

The  railway  communication  which  Denver  has 
with  the  different  productive  districts  of  the 
State  has  been  considerably  extended  by  the 
new  Colorado  Midland  Road,  extending  from 
Colorado  Springs,  seventy-five  miles  south  of 
Denver,  to  Leadville.  It  passes  through  the 
heart  of  the  State,  and  when  completed  beyond 
its  present  terminus  will  enter  Utah,  and  con 
nect  there  with  the  Utah  Midland, — -a  proposed 
new  line  to  the  Pacific.  The  Colorado  Midland 
now  uses  the  newly  laid  track  of  the  Atchison 
road  between  Denver  and  Colorado  Springs. 
Eventually  it  will  use  that  of  the  Denver, 
Texas  &  Gulf,  or  possibly  become  a  part  of  the 
Missouri  Pacific  system.  Still  another  road  of 
direct  benefit  to  Denver  is  the  Texas,  Santa  Fe 
&  Northern.  It  connects  the  Rio  Grande  and 
the  Atchison  at  Santa  Fe,  New  Mexico,  and 
gives  Denver  a  nearly  direct  route  into  the 
Southwest,  —  old  Mexico  and  the  cities  along 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  in  Texas.  The  Fort 
Worth  and  Gulf  road  was  finished  in  the  spring 
of  1888.  By  it  Denver  has  a  broad-gauge  route 
to  the  Gulf. 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  49 

The  trade  of  Denver  for  1886,  including  the 
product  of  her  manufactories,  amounted  to  over 
$72,000,000.  Of  this  sum  the  smelters  pro 
duced  $10,000,000.  The  real-estate  sales,  as 
recorded,  were  nearly  $11,000,000.  Following 
the  depression  of  a  few  years  ago  has  come  no 
"  boom  "  or  unwarranted  advance.  The  sales 
for  1886-87  were  large,  but  were  the  result  of 
an  active  and  legitimate  demand. 

The  business  portion  of  Denver  is  continually 
expanding.  The  centre  of  trade  in  the  future 
will  be  near  the  County  Court-house,  and  event 
ually  surround  that  spacious  structure.  Lands 
that  a  few  years  ago  were  far  outside  the  city 
limits  are  so  no  longer.  Capitol  Hill,  which 
in  1882  contained  not  more  than  one  or  two 
houses,  is  now  nearly  covered  with  large  and 
expensive  residences.  Residence  streets  have 
been  rapidly  absorbed  by  business  interests,  and 
there  is  a  continual  growth  away  from  the  old 
centre  down  by  the  junction  of  the  Platte  and 
Cherry. 

The  streets,  houses,  and    public  buildings  of 
Denver  are  most  attractive.    Bright-red  brick  and 
yellow  stone  are  the  favorite  materials  of  con 
struction,  and  the  effect  of  this  combination  gives 
4 


SHOSHONE. 


the  city  a  peculiarly  pleasing  appearance.  The 
numbej-  of  public  buildings  is  still  limited,  but  is 
being  rapidly  increased.  The  City  Hall,  Tabor 


THE   OPERA    HOUSE. 


Opera-house,  Duff  Block,  County  Court-house, 
and  mercantile  blocks  would  be  a  credit  to  any 
city.  The  streets  are  not  paved,  and  at  times  are 
uncomfortably  muddy.  In  the  residence  quarter 


THE   CITY   OF   DENVER.  51 

rows  of  trees  line  each  thoroughfare,  and  there 
are  streams  of  water  coursing  past  them.  In 
many  cases  the  houses  are  surrounded  by  lawns 
and  gardens.  Especially  is  this  true  of  those 
on  Capitol  Hill. 

Besides  its  County  Court-house,  Denver  will 
soon  have  the  Capitol  Building.  It  is  now  be 
ing  constructed,  and  will  cost  a  million  of  dol 
lars.  Ground  for  its  reception  was  first  broken 
on  the  6th  of  July,  1886,  and  the  foundations 
for  the  stone-work  were  completed  the  follow 
ing  November.  The  Corinthian  order  of  archi 
tecture  has  been  adopted,  and  the  stone  for  the 
front  walls  will  be  from  the  sandstone  quarries 
of  Gunnison  County.  Georgetown  granite  will 
be  used  in  the  foundations,  and  other  portions 
of  the  building  will  be  of  stone  obtained  from 
the  quarries  at  Stout,  in  Laramie  County.  The 
building  will  be  severely  simple,  having  no 
dome  or  minarets,  and  will  be  three  hundred 
and  eighty-three  feet  long  and  three  hundred 
and  thirteen  feet  wide.  It  is  to  stand  on  Capitol 
Hill,  and  overlook  the  entire  city  and  its  varied 
surroundings. 

The  climatic  advantages  of  Denver,  like  those 
of  Colorado  in  general,  have  often  been  de- 


52  SHOSHONE. 

scribed,  and  are  now  tolerably  familiar  to  all. 
A  clear,  invigorating  air,  cool  nights  even  in 
midsummer,  mild  days  in  winter,  with  now  and 
then  a  season  of  extreme  dry  cold,  are  the  chief 
characteristics  of  this  highly  favored  place.  One 
enjoying  these  blessings  is  loath  to  leave  the 
city.  Rarely  is  the  sky  obscured.  Almost  to 
a  certainty  one  may  plan  for  the  pleasures  of  a 
week  ahead.  For  sufferers  from  throat  and  lung 
troubles,  Denver  is  a  natural  sanatorium ;  and 
now  that  it  has  every  comfort  of  life,  and  has 
become  staid  and  conservative,  it  will  add  to 
its  population  every  year,  and  tempt  to  itself 
those  who  no  longer  are  able  or  willing  to  brave 
the  discomforts  of  older  but  much  less-favored 
centres. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CLEAR  CREEK  AND  ITS  SURROUNDINGS. 

T3ESIDES  its  successful  attempts  to  obtain 
•*-r  control  of  the  country  lying  south  and 
west,  Denver  was  not  so  blind  to  its  interests  as 
to  neglect  the  productive  territory  of  its  north 
western  surroundings.  It  is  this  district  which 
the  Union  Pacific  controls.  The  country  is  the 
first  that  was  developed  in  Colorado.  The  old 
placer  claims  there  yielded  fabulous  sums  of 
money,  and  to-day  the  mines  in  and  around 
Georgetown  have  a  yearly  output  that  adds 
materially  to  the  wealth  of  Colorado. 

No  better  illustration  of  this  fact  can  be  given, 
perhaps,  than  by  taking  the  report  of  the  United 
States  Mint  at  Denver  for  1886.  The  total  op 
erations  of  that  concern  for  the  year  aggregated 
$1,500,000.  Of  this  sum  Colorado  furnished 
$1,303,807.87,  the  largest  producing  counties 
being  Boulder,  with  an  output  of  $20,771.46; 


54  SHOSHONE. 

Chaffee,  $65,602.81;  Clear  Creek,  $18,575.31; 
and  Gilpin,  $686,793.15.  They  were  famous 
long  before  Leadville  was  thought  of,  and  to 
gether  form  a  district  of  vast  wealth  and  possi 
bilities.  The  Union  Pacific  branches  give  them 
all  necessary  transportation  facilities,  and  the 
nearness  of  the  Denver  ore  market  enables  a 
resident  miner  to  dispose  of  his  product,  no 
matter  how  small  it  may  be. 

The  main  lines  of  the  Union  Pacific  system 
are  the  South  Park  and  the  Colorado  Central. 
Both  the  roads  are  good  examples  of  modern 
engineering,  and  the  country  which  they  develop 
is  as  interesting  a  bit  of  Colorado  as  you  can  find, 
or  would  wish  to  see.  It  has  no  end  of  pictu- 
resqueness,  and  is  like  an  offspring  of  Switzerland, 
being  overrun  with  mountains  and  containing  a 
half  score  of  little  villages  that  are  snugly  tucked 
away  among  the  narrow  valleys  which  the  ranges 
have  formed.  Passing  a  few  days  in  this  district 
will  give  one  the  best  possible  idea  of  what  Colo 
rado  is  like ;  and  more  than  this,  it  will  enable 
him  to  visit  some  of  the  best-paying  mines  in 
the  State,  and  to  study  the  old  placer-mining 
industry,  which  now,  alas  !  is  nearing  the  end  of 
its  golden  existence. 


HANGING 


;ING  ROCK,  CLEAR  CREEK  CANON. 


CLEAR  CREEK  AND  ITS  SURROUNDINGS.   57 

The  best-known  towns  of  the  district  are 
Georgetown,  Idaho  Springs,  Central  City,  Black 
Hawk,  Boulder,  and  Fort  Collins.  The  Union 
Pacific  has  extended  branch  lines  to  these  sev 
eral  centres,  and  good  hotels  have  been  built  at 
places  most  convenient  to  outlying  regions  of 
interest,  such  as  Middle  and  Estes  Parks. 

An  hour's  ride  from  Denver  brings  one  within 
the  very  embrace  of  the  mountains.  For  the 
first  fifteen  miles  the  country  is  comparatively 
level.  There  is  a  succession  of  farms,  each  with 
its  fields  of  bright  green  alfalfa,  and  in  the  near 
distance  are  the  foothills,  so  closely  packed  to 
gether,  and  with  the  heights  behind  them  so 
formidable  in  appearance,  that  one  questions 
the  ability  of  the  railway  to  find  an  entrance  to 
their  protected  valleys.  But  long  before  one's 
doubts  are  dispelled  the  outside  world  is  lost  to 
view.  Suddenly,  almost  mysteriously,  the  gate 
way  is  entered,  and  one  is  fast  within  the  en 
chanting  region.  Towering  high  above  are  the 
stupendous  cliffs ;  near  the  track  rushes  a  foam 
ing  mountain  stream.  The  rocks  are  dull-hued ; 
the  river  is  alive  with  light,  and  is  as  clear  as 
crystal.  The  canon  echoes  with  the  noise  of 
the  on-rushing  train ;  and  the  deeper  you  pene- 


58  SHOSHONE. 

trate  into  the  heart  of  the  range,  the  narrower 
and  more  gloomy  the  little  pathway  becomes. 

Just  beyond  the  deepest  part  of  Clear  Creek 
Canon  —  as  this  winding  road  to  the  country 
west  of  Denver  is  called — is  Idaho  Springs,  a 
mountain-surrounded  hamlet  of  inviting  aspect, 
and  famous  for  its  healing  waters  and  invigo 
rating  air.  Its  elevation  is  seven  thousand  five 
hundred  feet  above  sea-level,  and  the  hot  springs 
contain  chemical  constituents  almost  identical 
with  those  of  the  celebrated  Carlsbad  Springs 
of  Germany.  The  waters  range  in  temperature 
from  85°  to  120°  Fahrenheit,  and  artificial  heat 
is  never  required.  Bath-houses  have  been 
erected  near  the  town,  and  the  village  is  filled 
with  seekers  after  health. 

Perhaps  the  most  interesting  feature  of  the 
town  is  the  so-called  "  hot  cavern."  This  strange 
formation  extends  far  into  the  Santa  Fe  Moun 
tain,  and  is  filled  with  a  vapory  warmth  gener 
ated  from  the  \vaters  that  ooze  from  the  flinty 
walls  of  the  gloomy  recess.  In  the  centre  of 
the  cavern  is  a  large  pool  of  heated  water,  in 
which  one  may  enjoy  a  Turkish  bath  amid  sur 
roundings  that,  if  not  palatial,  are  at  least  strange 
and  phenomenal.  Consumptives  and  those 


CLEAR   CREEK  AND   ITS    SURROUNDINGS.      6 1 

whom  rheumatism  has  afflicted  flock  to  Idaho 
Springs  by  thousands.  Many  of  the  visitors, 
whose  ailments  have  disappeared  in  the  place, 
are  loath  to  leave  its  bracing  air,  and  have  built 
themselves  picturesque  little  homes  that  do  much 
toward  making  the  town  attractive.  One  note 
worthy  house  is  fashioned  after  a  castle  of  the 
Rhine.  Towers  of  stone  guard  its  corners,  and 
there  are  quaint  gables  and  narrow  windows. 

In  the.  days  of  its  early  history,  Idaho  Springs 
was  a  famous  mining  centre.  You  can  still  see 
where  the  busy  army  of  workers  washed  the 
earth  for  its  golden  treasures,  and  in  the  moun 
tain  sides  are  the  tunnels  that  were  bored  when 
the  excitement  was  at  its  height.  Placer  mining 
is  no  longer  attempted  to  any  extent ;  but  shafts 
are  still  sunk,  and  the  yield  of  ore  from  mines 
near  the  town  is  not  inconsiderable. 

The  county  seat  of  Clear  Creek  County  is 
Georgetown,  fifty  miles  west  of  Denver.  In  the 
neighborhood  of  this  village,  which  rests  in  the 
very  lap  of  high  hills,  are  some  of  the  deepest 
and  richest  mines  in  Colorado.  I  know  of  no 
place  in  the  State  where  one  can  gain  a  better 
insight  into  the  mysteries  of  mining  than  here. 
The  people  thrive  on  the  industry,  and  the 


62  SHOSHONE. 

streets  are  alive  with  miners.  From  the  hotel 
one  can  hear  the  noise  of  stamp  mills,  and  at 
night  look  up  at  the  lights  which  denote  the 
location  on  the  mountain  slopes  of  the  almost 
countless  claims. 

A  mile  and  a  quarter  beyond  Georgetown  is 
Silver  Plume,  a  rich  mining  camp  which  the 
railroad  has  reached  by  means  of  the  justly  fa 
mous  "  Big  Loop,"  —  an  engineering  achievement 
that  illustrates  the  great  progress  made  in  later 
years  by  the  builders  of  our  railways.  In  Eng 
land  a  roadbed  has  a  nearly  continuous  level. 
In  America,  and  especially  in  the  West,  the 
opposite  is  the  rule.  In  1852  the  climbing  capa 
bilities  of  a  locomotive  were  first  discovered.  A 
zigzag  gradient  often  per  cent  —  that  is,  ten  feet 
rise  in  one  hundred  feet  long,  or  five  hundred 
and  twenty-eight  feet  per  mile  —  was  made  in 
that  year  over  a  hill  about  two  miles  long.  A 
locomotive  weighing  twenty-eight  tons  on  its 
drivers  took  one  car  weighing  fifteen  tons  over 
this  line  in  safety.  The  present  average  gradient 
is  four  per  cent.  Another  invention  for  moun 
tain  climbing  is  the  switch-back,  by  which  the 
gradient  is  eased  by  running  the  line  backward 
and  forward  in  a  zigzag  course,  instead  of  making 


CLEAR   CREEK  AND   ITS    SURROUNDINGS.      63 

a  direct  ascent.  The  device  was  first  employed 
more  than  forty  years  ago,  and  has  been  used 
on  the  Atchison  and  Northern  Pacific  Roads 
until  a  very  recent  period. 

With  the  improvement  of  brakes  and  other 
devices,  came  the  development  of  the  Loop. 
It  was  first  applied  by  the  Denver  and  Rio 
Grande  Railroad,  and  later  by  the  Saint  Gothard 
Road,  the  Black  Forest  Railways  of  Germany, 
and  the  Semmering  line  in  the  Tyrol.  The  de 
vice,  as  explained  by  a  recent  authority  on  rail 
way  construction,  is  to  connect  the  two  lines  of 
the  zigzag  by  a  curve  at  the  point  of  intersection, 
so  that  the  train,  instead  of  going  alternately 
backward  and  forward,  now  runs  on  continuously. 
By  aid  of  the  "  loop  "  it  is  possible  for  a  line  to 
return  above  itself  in  spiral  form,  crossing  the 
lower  level  by  cither  bridge  or  tunnel.  One 
instance  of  this  achievement  is  at  Tehachapi 
Pass,  on  the  Southern  Pacific  road  in  California, 
and  the  other  is  on  the  Union  Pacific  between 
Georgetown  and  Silver  Plume.  At  Tehachapi 
the  line  ascends  2,674  feet  in  twenty-five  miles. 
There  are  eleven  tunnels  and  one  spiral  3,800 
feet  long.  At  Georgetown  the  direct  distance 
is  one  and  a  quarter  miles,  and  the  elevation 


64  SHOSHONE. 

six  hundred  feet,  requiring  a  gradient  of  four 
hundred  and  eighty  feet  per  mile.  By  means 
of  spirals  the  length  of  road  is  increased  to  four 
miles,  and  the  gradient  reduced  to  one  hundred 
and  fifty  feet  per  mile. 

One  need  not  be  an  expert  in  railway  con 
struction,  however,  to  enjoy  the  ride  to  Silver 
Plume.  Even  those  most  utterly  ignorant  of 
scientific  principles  will  find  much  to  interest 
them.  The  valley  is  very  narrow,  the  hills  very 
high,  the  air  most  exhilarating.  Ascending,  the 
track  lies  coiled  far  below  you  ;  and  at  Graymont, 
the  actual  terminus,  you  are  high  above  the  eight 
thousand  feet  level  of  Georgetown,  and  almost 
within  the  shadow  of  Gray's  Peak,  that  beacon- 
like  sentinel  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  which  stands 
guard  over  the  shaded  levels  of  Middle  Park. 

The  Colorado  Parks  are  isolated  mountain 
resorts  of  peculiar  attractiveness.  In  winter 
they  are  filled  with  snow,  and  deserted.  In  sum 
mer  the  grasses  are  green  on  their  levels,  and 
the  air  is  delightful.  The  Parks  west  of  Denver 
are  Estes,  North,  Middle,  and  South.  Together, 
they  form  a  region  that  has  a  beauty  purely 
natural.  Game  abounds  in  the  forests,  and  the 
streams  are  filled  with  trout.  No  railways  have 


CLEAR   CREEK  AND   ITS    SURROUNDINGS.      65 

dared,  or  cared,  to  enter  the  mountain-surrounded 
and  indescribably  picturesque  quarters,  and  the 
only  visitors  are  those  who  come  to  enjoy  the 
restful  quiet  or  the  abundant  sport.  Log-cabins 
are  the  rule.  In  them  you  live,  and  from  them 
take  your  rides  across  the  open  fields  to  the 
mountains  and  forests.  Nothing  is  conventional 
or  prosaic.  From  Middle  Park  your  view  of 
Gray's  Peak  is  unobstructed ;  and  from  Estes 
you  can  see  the  white  crest  of  Long's,  looking 
down  from  its  superb  height  of  more  than  four 
teen  thousand  feet.  So  surrounded  are  you  by 
snowy  summits  that  you  can  easily  forget  you  are 
in  Colorado.  The  country  is  Switzerland,  as  full  of 
delightful  surprises  and  as  grandly  fashioned. 

Those  who  can,  should  give  a  month  to  the 
Parks  and  to  that  district  in  which  are  George 
town  and  the  various  other  settlements  that  the 
railway  has  created.  There  will  never,  I  prom 
ise,  be  an  idle,  listless  day  in  all  that  time.  If 
fond  of  climbing,  you  can  scale  Long's  Peak  or 
Gray's,  gaining,  for  your  trouble,  such  views  as 
can  only  be  suggested,  not  described;  and  if 
fond  of  hunting,  you  can  enjoy  the  sport  to 
your  heart's  content.  Nature's  gifts,  in  fact,  are 
at  your  disposal  to  use  how  and  when  you  will. 
5 


66  SHOSHONE. 

Nor  need  one  forget  to  study  during  his  month 
of  pleasuring.  The  country  over  which  he 
journeys  is  one  of  great  actualities  and  many 
possibilities.  Its  mines,  in  many  instances,  are 
older  than  Denver.  In  the  valleys  are  some  of 
the  richest  agricultural  districts  in  the  State ; 
the  forests  are  vast  and  of  great  value.  In  time, 
no  doubt,  the  iron  hand  of  progress  and  de 
velopment  will  be  stretched  forth  from  Denver, 
and  that  which  now  seems  so  isolated  will  be 
brought  within  the  great  circle  of  commercial 
activity.  Places  that  to-day  are  towns  are  very 
likely  to  grow  into  cities.  Even  the  Parks  may 
lose  their  quiet  and  become  the  centres  of  fash 
ionable  life.  The  region  has  already  yielded 
its  many  millions ;  it  will  yield  as  many  more. 
Development  is  still  in  its  infancy. 

So  before  the  great  change  comes  let  us 
gain  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  this  beautiful 
district.  The  scenery  will  prepare  us  to  enjoy 
that  which  we  shall  find  during  our  idle  journey. 
It  will  whet  our  appetite  for  Nature's  gifts. 
Drinking  the  healing  waters,  bathing  in  the 
mountain  streams,  inhaling  the  pure,  fresh  air, 
who  is  there  that  will  not  forget  his  cares? 
At  Boulder  or  Georgetown,  one  is  in  the  im- 


CLEAR   CREEK  AND   ITS   SURROUNDINGS.      67 

mediate  neighborhood  of  as  much  wildness  of 
nature  as  is  possible  to  be  found  in  Colorado. 
In  half  a  day's  drive  from  either  town  the  forests 
are  virgin  and  the  valleys  unmolested. 

The  Colorado,  or  Front,  Range,  which  is  the 
first  to  greet  the  traveller  approaching  the  city 
of  Denver  from  the  east,  may  easily  be  mistaken 
as  representing  the  entire  Rocky  Mountain  sys 
tem.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  however,  it  is  but  one 
of  three  parallel  chains  which  trend  nearly  due 
north  and  south  through  northwestern  Colorado. 
Behind  it  rise  the  Mosquito  and  Sawatch  Ranges, 
both  having  an  altitude  fully  as  great  as  that  of 
the  range  overlooking  the  eastern  plains,  and 
possessing  the  same  interesting  scenic  features. 

Were  it  not  for  this  wise  subdivision  the  in 
terior  districts  of  Colorado  would  be  practically 
inaccessible.  As  it  is  they  are  easily  reached 
by  means  of  the  valleys  which  lie  between  the 
several  ranges,  and  one  may  wander  wherever 
he  pleases,  either  to  the  Parks  already  men 
tioned,  or  to  the  wilder  districts  surrounding  the 
westernmost  chains.  The  slopes  of  the  Colorado 
Range  are  deeply  scored  by  cailons  similar  to 
that  of  Clear  Creek,  and  its  streams  run  eastward 
to  the  river  Platte.  In  the  Mosquito  the  western 


68  SHOSHONE. 

flanks  of  the  mountains  are  characterized  by 
broken,  abrupt,  nearly  perpendicular  walls,  from 
which  open  deep  canons  of  glacial  origin.  On 
the  eastern  slopes  the  forests  extend  from  the 
level  of  the  valley  to  the  line  of  perpetual  snow. 
The  Sawatch  Range,  from  a  geologic  if  not  from 
a  picturesque  point  of  view,  is  the  most  interest 
ing  of  all  the  divisions.  On  its  rocky  slopes  is 
written  the  eventful  history  of  the  country  it 
dominates.  It  was  an  island  once,  and  the  vast 
area  occupied  by  the  Mosquito  Mountains  and 
the  Upper  Arkansas  Valley  was  the  littoral  re 
gion  of  an  Archaean  continent.  The  Rocky 
Mountain  chain  in  this  latitude  consisted,  in  fact, 
of  a  series  of  Archaean  islands  or  continents, 
which  have  never  been  entirely  submerged.  But 
only  on  the  Sawatch  Range  is  the  story  clearly 
told. 

The  valley  lying  between  the  Mosquito  and 
Front  Ranges  is  known  as  the  South  Park.  It 
is  a  broad,  basin-like  depression,  and  slopes 
gently  to  the  southward.  Its  elevation  is  eight 
thousand  to  ten  thousand  feet  above  sea-level, 
and  there  are  many  picturesque  effects  to  be 
enjoyed.  West  of  South  Park  is  the  Arkansas 
River  Valley,  less  than  sixteen  miles  wide,  but 


CLEAR   CREEK  AND   ITS   SURROUNDINGS.      69 

nearly  sixty  miles  long.  At  its  upper  end, 
occupying  an  elevated  site  on  the  Mosquito 
Range,  is  the  city  of  Leadville,  and  farther 
down  the  valley  is  the  narrow  gateway  known 
as  the  Royal  Gorge,  or  Grand  Canon  of  the 
Arkansas.  In  the  ante-railroad  days  the  valley 
was  an  isolated  region  shut  in  by  mountains  on 
every  side,  and  with  only  narrow  trails  as  outlets 
to  the  country  round  about.  To-day  it  is  a  pop 
ulous  district,  famous  for  its  natural  beauty,  for 
its  vast  mineral  wealth,  and  as  the  site  of  the 
largest  young  mining  city  in  the  world. 

One  of  the  branches  of  the  Union  Pacific 
system  extends  through  the  South  Park  and 
Platte  River  Canon  to  Breckenridge  and  Lead 
ville,  and  over  the  Alpine  Pass  to  the  Gunnison 
country,  —  a  Pennsylvania-like  region  of  coal, 
wood,  iron,  and  other  natural  products.  Lead 
ville  has  lost  none  of  its  interest  since  the  days 
when  it  was  famous  throughout  the  world.  It 
is  still  the  largest  mining  camp  in  Colorado, 
and  its  yield  of  ore  is  fabulously  great.  Its  in 
dustries  are  on  so  large  a  scale  that  one  may 
derive  much  profit,  and  even  pleasure,  in  study 
ing  them.  Great  as  the  production  has  been,  it 
promises  to  be  still  greater;  and  while  the  work 


70  SHOSHONE. 

of  development  is  continued  the  city  itself  is 
busy  grappling  with  the  many  difficulties  arising 
from  a  growth  so  sudden  as  its  own,  and  is 
gradually  bringing  order  out  of  chaos.  Many 
of  the  early  crudities  still  remain,  but  much  has 
been  done  to  better  the  appearance  of  a  place 
whose  rise  was  almost  as  sudden  as  a  thought. 
The  immediate  surroundings  of  the  place,  how 
ever,  are  unsightly.  The  hills  have  lost  their 
forests  and  are  covered  with  smoky  furnaces, 
and  the  outlook  is  upon  a  field  shorn  of  what 
ever  beauty  it  may  once  have  had. 

Not  so,  however,  is  the  scenery  through  South 
Park  or  over  the  Alpine  Pass.  There  Nature 
again  asserts  herself.  Mountains  are  everywhere, 
—  crowded  together  in  the  distance  and  lifting 
their  crowned  heads  far  above  where  you  stand. 
Except  in  the  South  American  Andes,  the 
Alpine  Pass  is  the  highest  railroad  point  ever 
attained.  It  is  11,623  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea.  At  one  end  of  the  tunnel  you  are  on 
the  Atlantic  slope ;  at  the  other  you  are  on  the 
Pacific.  Two  years  were  spent  in  boring  this 
narrow  passage-way  through  the  mountain,  Op 
erations  were  carried  on  from  both  ends,  and  all 
tools  and  the  California  redwood  linings  were 


CLEAR  CREEK  AND  ITS  SURROUNDINGS.   7 1 

brought  up  the  steep  slopes  over  trails  that 
never  before  had  been  used  except  by  the  wild 
sheep  of  the  elevated  region. 

The  best  views  are  those  just  beyond  the  tun 
nel,  where  the  train,  leaving  the  gloomy  depths, 
passes  out  upon  a  narrow  shelf  of  rock  blasted 
along  the  perpendicular  mountain-side.  Timber 
line  is  far  below ;  around  you  lie  banks  of  never- 
melting  snow.  In  the  far  distance  are  the 
whitened  peaks  of  the  Gunnison  country ;  in  the 
east  rise  the  bluish  tops  of  the  mountains  over 
looking  Denver.  From  your  elevated  point  of 
lookout  the  rivers  are  mere  shining  threads,  and 
the  valleys  are  but  tiny  patches  of  green  or 
brown. 

The  more  one  sees  of  Colorado,  and  the  more 
intimately  its  varied  attractions  are  known,  the 
greater  becomes  his  admiration  for  the  Rocky 
Mountain  State.  You  cannot  dull  its  charm. 
The  air  and  the  light  tempt  one  to  those  re 
mote  fastnesses  where  stand  the  grand  creations 
of  a  master  hand.  The  colorings  are  beauti 
ful  :  the  rocks  red  and  yellow,  the  forests  green, 
the  grasses  brown.  Wandering  at  will  through 
the  valleys,  you  gain  a  bodily  strength  that 
gives  you  resolution  to  climb  the  highest  peaks 


72  SHOSHONE. 

and   take  the   longest  rides.     Life,   by  degrees, 
becomes  ideal :   you  are  newly  created. 

I  shall  leave  to  the  local  guide-books  the 
more  specific  instructions  as  to  how  one  may 
reach  the  scenes  I  have  here  so  lightly  touched 
upon.  Those  best  acquainted  with  the  field  will 
understand  how  much  one  must  leave  unsaid 
who  attempts  in  a  single  chapter  to  tell  of  all 
there  is  to  see.  At  the  most,  I  can  but  suggest, 
and  must  leave  to  others  that  minute  description 
which  should  be  given  a  region  so  worthy  of 
one's  praise.  Our  few  days  of  idle  pleasure 
have  flown  like  the  wind ;  and  now,  afar  off,  are 
tempting  beauties  that  bid  us  say  adieu  to  Den 
ver  and  farewell  to  the  snowy  mounds  that  watch 
that  city  of  the  Western  plains. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IN   THE   SHADOW    OF   PIKE'S    PEAK. 

N EARING  the  State  of  Colorado,  one  might 
easily  imagine  that  it  would  be  a  very 
simple  matter  to  get  directly  into  the  shadow 
of  Pike's  Peak,  which  is  seen  rising  high,  white, 
and  solitary  above  all  its  fellows.  But  the 
mountain  that  Lieutenant  Pike  named  during 
his  early  travels  in  the  then  distant  West  is  a 
landmark  as  deceptive  as  it  is  alluring.  Though 
it  appears  very  near  the  foothills,  which  are  fre 
quently  visited  and  very  accessible,  it  in  reality 
keeps  well  away  from  them,  and  fortifies  itself 
with  a  group  of  mountains,  like  the  giant  that 
it  is.  Even  when  one  reaches  Colorado  Springs 
and  gazes  at  the  tall  white  shoulder,  rising  above 
the  deep  blue  and  purple  hills  around  it,  there 
are  fifteen  miles  of  space  intervening,  although 
one  would  take  oath  that  the  peak  is  not  over 
a  mile  away.  The  clearness  of  the  Colorado 
atmosphere  is  one  cause  of  the  optical  delusion, 


74  SHOSHONE. 

and  the  other  is  in  the  mountain  itself.  It  is  so 
big  and  massive,  high  and  white,  that  it  always 
seems  near  one,  even  when  a  hundred  miles 
away ;  and  the  "  fifty-niners,"  toiling  slowly 
across  the  plains  on  their  way  to  the  new  El 
Dorado,  thought  every  day  that  on  the  next 
they  would  reach  the  Peak  and  make  their 
camp  at  its  base. 

So,  when  the  word  "  shadow"  is  used,  it  must 
be  taken  with  limitations.  One  may  think  him 
self  in  the  shade  of  the  natural  beacon,  but 
probably  he  will  not  be.  Colorado  Springs  and 
Manitou  are  generally  said  to  be  in  the  shadow 
of  Pike's  Peak;  and  I  have  adopted  the  local 
phrase,  though  the  real  shadow  is  several  miles 
away.  And  yet,  if  one  does  not  mind  a  hard 
ride  and  a  rough  camp  and  a  few  hardships, 
he  may  rest  for  a  day  or  so  in  the  real  shadow, 
or  climb  to  the  top  of  the  Peak  itself,  and  from 
it  look  down  upon  a  good  portion  of  Colo 
rado,  with  its  ranges  and  valleys  and  vast  plains 
stretching  far  away,  even  as  do  the  waters  of  a 
mighty  ocean.  And  if  any  one  will  come  with 
me,  afoot  and  horseback,  into  the  mysterious 
regions  of  the  Rockies,  I  can  promise  him  many 
a  day  of  enjoyment  and  as  varied  a  selection  of 


m 


"'• 


IN  THE   SHADOW   OF    PIKE'S    PEAK.          77 

views  and  experiences  as  he  could  get  in  the 
Alps  or  in  the  Apennines.  And  we  shall  never 
lose  sight  of  Tike's  Peak  in  all  our  wanderings, 
nor  get  far  away  from  its  shadow. 

Had  one  looked  for  Colorado  Springs  or 
Manitou  in  1871,  he  would  not  have  found 
them.  The  site  of  both  was  a  desert.  Where 
the  one  now  stands  was  a  rolling  prairie,  and 
where  the  other  is  were  a  few  sulphur  and 
soda  springs,  with  now  and  then  an  Indian 
camp-fire  lighting  up  a  group  of  swarthy  faces. 
But  to-day  Colorado  Springs  is  a  city  of  seven 
thousand  people ;  and  Manitou,  while  not  so 
large,  has  a  resident  population  of  at  least  five 
hundred,  and  a  floating  population  of  several 
thousands.  During  the  summer  months  the 
little  mountain  hamlet  is  overrun  with  visitors, 
and  the  scenes  are  as  animated  as  those  at  Sara 
toga  or  Newport.  Many  visit  the  place  propos 
ing  to  stay  a  week,  and  remain  a  month  ;  while 
those  who  come  for  a  month  often  stay  six,  or 
a  year.  The  attractions  of  Manitou  are,  first, 
its  climate,  and  secondly,  its  situation.  Pictu 
resquely  tucked  away  at  the  very  base  of  Pike's 
Peak,  it  looks  eastward,  through  a  gap  in  the 
foothills,  over  a  vast  stretch  of  plains,  brown 


/8  SHOSHONE. 

and  rolling,  and  dotted  with  sun-patches  as  the 
light  is  broken  by  passing  clouds. 

In  order  that  we  may  know  a  little  better 
where  we  are,  stand  with  me  on  the  summit  of 
Pike's  Peak.  It  has  been  a  long,  hard  climb, 
but  what  of  that?  We  have  toiled  through  dense 
forests,  crawled  along  the  edge  of  dark  ravines, 
tumbled  over  lava-strewn  fields.  But  after  all 
the  hardships,  are  we  not  repaid  now,  when 
we  look  abroad  far  down  upon  the  country  at 
our  feet?  Who  minds  the  past  exertion?  One 
may  complain  while  climbing  a  mountain ;  but 
when  he  stands  upon  the  summit,  with  a  clear 
sky  above  him,  the  air  intoxicating  with  its 
purity,  he  ceases  lamentations,  and  is  mute  and 
enraptured. 

For  how  broad  the  prospect,  and  how  grandly 
beautiful !  There,  toward  the  east,  are  the 
plains,  stretching  to  the  horizon,  touching  the 
Missouri.  Westward  are  mountains,  tossed  to 
gether  in  wild  confusion.  At  our  feet  is  Man- 
itou,  its  houses  dwarfed,  the  stream  near  by 
a  noiseless  thread.  Near  at  hand  is  Colorado 
Springs,  looking  no  larger  than  one's  hand,  —  a 
toy  village,  a  mere  speck  upon  the  plains.  We 
can  see  Denver,  eighty  miles  away,  and  Pueblo, 


IN  THE   SHADOW   OF   PIKE'S    PEAK.          79 

forty,  and  Leadville,  a  hundred.  Colorado  is 
unmasked.  Companion  peaks  to  this  of  Pike's 
lift  their  whitened  heads  far  above  the  Rocky 
Range ;  dense  masses  of  cloud  cover  some  of 
the  neighboring  hills,  or  lie  packed  in  deep 
gorges.  A  chill,  sharp  air  blows  upon  us,  while 
the  sunlight  scorches  our  faces.  We  are  nearly 
fifteen  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 
To  the  towns  below,  the  distance  is  seven  thou 
sand  feet.  Every  hour  the  colorings  change. 
We  are  above  the  clouds.  Nature  is  wild,  but 
yet  harmonious.  Bare,  sharp  ledges  reach  to 
ward  us  from  the  trees  below;  gaunt,  basaltic 
rocks  are  piled  about  us.  At  our  side  mighty 
rivers  have  their  source  in  tiny  springs  born  of 
melting  snow;  in  the  distance  we  can  see  the 
streams  winding  through  deep  and  narrow 
canons.  There  is  the  Ute  Pass  trail,  lead 
ing  from  Manitou  up  and  into  the  mountains ; 
here  other  paths,  extending  to  secluded  nooks, 
open  invitingly  before  us.  Noticing  the  shaded 
fastnesses  scattered  among  the  hills,  we  grow 
anxious  to  visit  them.  They  are  tempting  bits 
of  nature.  Many  are  as  wild  to-day  in  their 
surroundings  as  when  their  only  visitors  were 
the  Indians.  Civilization  has  crept  to  the  base 


80  SHOSHONE. 

of  tlie  Rocky  Mountains  in  Colorado,  but  only 
in  places  has  it  found  entrance  into  the  heart  of 
the  range. 

Colorado  Springs  is  seventy-five  miles  south 
of  Denver.  Five  miles  west  of  it,  nearer  the 
mountains,  is  Manitou.  Strangely  enough,  the 
medicinal  springs  are  at  Manitou,  and  Colorado 
Springs,  being  a  strictly  temperance  town,  is 
obliged  to  look  to  Manitou  for  even  the  water 
which  the  people  drink.  The  town  was  founded 
as  a  colony  in  1871,  and  has  enjoyed  an  almost 
uninterrupted  prosperity.  It  has  had  its  seasons 
of  dulness,  but  as  a  rule  has  steadily  gained  in 
size  and  population,  and  is  now  one  of  the  pop 
ular  resorts  of  the  West.  Being  so  easy  of 
access  the  town  is  a  convenient  stopping-place 
for  all  transcontinental  travellers,  and  is  on  the 
direct  road  to  Salt  Lake.  Coming  down  from 
Denver,  one  follows  the  irregular  contour  of  the 
Rockies,  and  has  at  all  times  a  view  of  their 
brightly  colored  monuments  of  sandstone  and 
of  the  canons  that  open  upon  the  plains. 

The  "  Springs,"  as  Colorado's  model  town  is 
familiarly  called,  is  attractive  to  look  at,  and  its 
varied  charms  render  one's  life  there  a  pro 
longed  season  of  rest  and  pleasure.  While  not 


IN  THE   SHADOW   OF   PIKE'S    PEAK.          8 1 

the  less  enjoyable  as  a  summer  residence,  it  is 
emphatically  a  winter  resort,  and  as  such  is 
chiefly  celebrated.  Protected  by  the  mountains 
from  chilly  western  and  northern  winds,  the 
weather  is  rarely  cold,  and  the  fall  of  snow  is 
light.  Clear,  sunshiny  days  are  the  rule  and 
not  the  exception.  For  weeks  at  a  time  the  sky 
is  cloudless  and  the  sunshine  bright  and  warm. 
The  elevation  is  nearly  six  thousand  feet,  and 
the  air,  in  consequence,  is  dry  and  bracing. 
Many  have  visited  Colorado  Springs  worn  out 
with  the  battle  against  consumption,  and  have 
lived  for  years  to  enjoy  the  out-of-door  life 
which  the  place  affords. 

One  lives,  in  fact,  in  the  open  air.  There  are 
picnics  in  mid-winter  in  the  secluded  canons 
near  by,  and  horses  are  cheap,  so  that  all  can 
afford  to  ride.  The  fashion  of  the  day  is  to  dress 
as  one  pleases,  to  ride  and  walk  and  lounge. 
The  existence,  indeed,  is  somewhat  demoraliz 
ing  to  a  well  man :  he  cannot  work,  seeing  so 
many  idle ;  and  if  he  does,  it  is  by  fits  and 
starts.  There  is  much  that  one  may  do  for 
amusement.  There  are  the  long  canters  over 
the  plains,  brown  in  winter  and  brilliant  with 
wild-flowers  in  the  spring ;  the  tramps  to  Chey- 
6 


82  SHOSHONE. 

enne  Canon,  a  high-walled  gorge  made  noisy  by 
a  brightly  flowing  stream  that  falls  into  the  canon 
from  the  edge  of  a  high,  black  ledge;  the  visits 
to  Manitou,  full  of  life  and  gayety;  the  long 
rides  into  the  Parks  nestled  among  the  moun 
tains.  Nature  is  ever  enticing,  and  day  by  day 
the  town  is  held  in  higher  regard. 

At  first  there  rs  a  feeling  that  the  vastness 
and  dryness  of  the  surrounding  country  can 
never  be  agreeable.  The  plains  seem  ever  in 
need  of  water;  the  mountains  are  rocky,  and 
one  longs  to  remould  them  into  hills  of  living 
green ;  the  canons  have  high  ledges  of  red  and 
yellow  stone,  that  one  has  an  itching  palm  to 
soften.  But  soon  all  desire  to  change  the 
existing  order  of  things  passes  away.  One 
gazes  upon  what  is  and  is  satisfied.  It  is  use 
less  to  attempt  an  analysis  of  the  cause  that 
forces  one  to  so  love  these  creations  of  Nature. 
The  prosaic  and  the  brilliant  visitor  are  alike 
affected :  men  who  before  never  noticed  the 
coloring  of  a  mountain  or  a  ledge  or  a  rock, 
begin  to  observe  and  speak  of  it  when  in  Colo 
rado  Springs.  The  hues  are  heightened  in  effect 
by  the  clearness  of  the  air  and  the  brilliancy  of 
the  sky.  When  the  sunlight  first  touches  the 


IN  THE   SHADOW    OF   PIKE'S    PEAK.          83 

top  of  Pike's  Peak  early  in  the  morning,  the 
snow-banks  there  sparkle  like  blocks  of  marble 
held  in  granite  ledges,  and  the  foothills,  bare 
here  and  tree-grown  there,  are  bold  and  hard 
and  rugged. 

But  after  midday,  when  the  sun  begins  to 
sink  behind  the  range,  all  the  mountains  grow 
softly  outlined.  Where  the  canons  are,  the 
shadows  are  deep  and  dark ;  while  the  rounded 
shoulders  of  the  hills  are  a  rich,  warm  blue. 
Many  a  weary  eye  has  gazed  at  the  Rocky 
Mountains  from  the  little  town  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  Peak,  watching  the  ever-changing 
colors  there,  wondering  when  the  soul,  freed 
from  its  weary  body,  would  climb  the  steep 
slopes  and  escape,  over  the  mighty  wall,  into 
that  "  other  world;"  and  many  a  lover,  too,  rid 
ing  slowly  over  the  plains  toward  the  towering 
fronts  bathed  in  the  liquid  rays  of  sunset,  has 
felt  the  magic  charm  of  their  beauty,  and  has 
wooed  the  stronger  for  the  heart  of  the  fair  one 
riding  silently  at  his  side.  The  mountains  that 
guard  Colorado  Springs  have  much  to  answer 
for.  They  have  driven  many  hearts  to  flutter 
ing,  have  opened  many  a  pair  of  lips  that  never 
would  have  dared  to  speak.  A  girl  should 


84 


SHOSHONE. 


never  believe  the  story  of  devotion  her  Romeo 
tells    in    Colorado.      His    mind    is    affected    by 


THE    ANTLERS. 

the  beauty  of  nature, 
and  every  object,  includ 
ing  Juliet  by  his  side, 
is  glorified  and  made 
perfect. 

Of  late  years  Colorado  Springs  has  lost  much 
of  its    olden    ease    and    primitiveness,   and  has 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF   PIKE'S    PEAK.  85 

grown  more  fashionable.  The  new  houses  have 
too  strong  a  suggestiveness  of  the  Newport  villas 
to  be  altogether  pleasing  to  those  who  knew  the 
"  Springs "  in  early  days,  when  a  stone  house 
was  something  unknown.  It  must  be  said,  how 
ever,  that  they  add  much  to  the  attractiveness 
of  the  place.  From  the  rear  balconies  of  these 
new  abodes  the  mountains  are  seen  marshalled 
in  full  view,  and  the  Peak  looms  grandly  above 
all  its  fellows.  I  doubt  if  a  better  or  more 
extended  prospect  could  be  desired  by  any 
lover  of  natural  scenery;  and  surely  no  street 
is  so  fortunate  as  this  Cascade  Avenue  of  the 
"  Springs." 

Of  course  the  "  Springs  "  has  its  hotels,  and 
fortunately  one  of  the  many  is  an  excellent 
tavern.  Everybody  knows  the  "  Antlers."  It 
was  built  half-a-dozen  years  ago  by  private  sub 
scription,  and  has  always  enjoyed  a  liberal  pat 
ronage.  Its  rear  faces  the  mountains,  and  north 
of  it  are  the  new  houses. 

Manitou,  neighbor  of  the  "  Springs,"  and  its 
"  right  bower,"  -  —  if  I  may  be  so  disrespectful  as 
to  designate  the  self-conscious  little  town  other 
wise  than  in  the  stereotyped  phrases  usually 
employed,  —  is  very  quaint,  very  far  from  pic- 


86  SHOSHONE. 

turesque  in  itself,  and  very  original  as  a  Western 
Saratoga.  It  clusters  at  and  around  a  group  of 
highly  medicinal  springs,  which  the  Indians  of 
Colorado  were  wont  to  visit  whenever  they  felt 
the  need  of  tonics,  and  has  grown  from  a  collec 
tion  of  a  few  log-cabins  to  its  present  respectable 
size.  Leaving  the  "Springs"  by  train,  one  is 
instantly  aware  of  being  conducted  to  a  most 
remarkable  place.  The  little  engine,  hauling 
its  train  of  narrow-gauge  cars,  fairly  hisses  with 
impatience.  Even  the  conductor  is  concerned, 
and  is  alert  to  impress  upon  you  the  importance 
of  what  you  are  soon  to  see. 

As  the  distance  is  less  than  five  miles  the 
journey  soon  ends;  and  Manitou,  the  great, 
stands  ready  to  give  you  greeting.  It  lies  in  a 
little  valley  formed  by  the  foothills,  and  is  at 
the  very  base  of  Pike's  Peak,  whose  luminous 
top  may  be  seen  outlined  against  the  blue  sky 
above.  Not  far  beyond  the  station  the  hills  are 
so  crowded  into  the  valley  as  to  give  the  im 
pression  that  none  can  leave  the  town  in  that 
direction,  and  eastward  are  other  hills.  Alto 
gether,  you  feel  much  shut  off  from  the  outside 
world.  This,  indeed,  is  what  you  are  expected 
to  feel  while  at  Manitou.  One  must  never  dare 


IN  THE   SHADOW   OF   PIKE'S   PEAK.          87 

think  of  another  place  while  there;  it  would 
mortally  offend  the  people  if  he  did.  The  town 
is  rather  unattractive,  as  I  have  mentioned.  The 
houses  are  planted  at  random  on  the  hill-sides 
and  on  either  bank  of  the  stream  flowing  down 
the  valley ;  and  the  hotels  are  window-studded 
monstrosities  that  do  not  make  the  slightest  at 
tempt  at  conformity  with  their  surroundings. 
On  our  arrival  the  station  platform  was  covered 
with  hotel  porters,  excited,  of  course,  and  mak 
ing  one  deaf  with  their  cries  ;  and  near  by  were 
open  carriages  into  which  we  entered,  and  were 
driven  rapidly  up  the  one  main  street  of  the 
town  to  the  hotel  we  had  chosen.  It  was  all 
very  like  Saratoga,  or  Nice,  or  Napa,  or  Santa 
Barbara;  and  the  number  of  darkies  constantly 
suggested  sleepy  St.  Augustine  or  sandy  Jack 
sonville,  in  Florida. 

If  the  local  guide-books  may  be  trusted,  one 
has  but  to  visit  Manitou  to  gain  eternal  life. 
The  air,  one  can  truly  say,  is  delicious.  To 
many  the  waters  are  delicious,  too.  Not  being 
ill  I  have  always  refrained  from  tasting  them. 
The  local  belief  is  that  they  will  cure  such  slight 
annoyances  as  blood-poisoning,  rheumatism,  dia 
betes,  and  derangements  of  the  liver.  I  have  no 


88 


SHOSHONE. 


doubt  they  will,  if  indeed  there  is  efficacy  in  any 
natural  waters.     Famous   chemists   have   tested 


A   SPRING   HOUSE. 


these  at  Manitou,  and,  for  a  consideration,  have 
pronounced  them  equal  to  any  of  the  European 


IN   THE   SHADOW    OF   PIKE'S    PEAK.          89 

springs.  Visitors  gather  at  the  fountains  and 
copiously  imbibe,  evidently  sure  that  quantity, 
if  not  quality,  will  gain  for  them  the  desired 
relief.  The  fact  that  the  Utes  were  believers  in 
the  Manitou  waters  is  to  me  their  strongest  rec 
ommendation.  An  Indian  is  not  easily  imposed 
upon,  and  the  public  is.  Not  that  I  think  the 
public  has  been  imposed  upon  at  Manitou.  Too 
many  cures  have  been  effected  to  leave  much 
doubt  regarding  the  curative  properties  of  the 
springs.  They  are  wonderful ;  and,  better  yet, 
they  are  abundant.  And  Manitou,  having  them, 
is  doubly  blessed ;  for  with  them  she  has  her 
climate  and  her  surroundings,  which,  once  enjoy 
ing,  one  never  forgets. 

To  recall  Manitou  and  not  the  "  Garden  of  the 
Gods  "  is  impossible.  The  two  are  inseparably 
connected  in  one's  thoughts.  "  H.  H.,"  whose 
home  was  once  at  Colorado  Springs,  and  whose 
grave  is  on  Cheyenne  Mountain,  called  the  Gar 
den  a  "  symphony  in  yellow  and  red."  The 
place  is  a  fantastic  creation.  It  lies  between 
the  Springs  and  Manitou,  and  is  a  hill-guarded 
retreat  crowded  with  strangely  fashioned  rocks 
of  red,  gray,  and  yellow  sandstone.  The  gate 
way  to  the  Garden  is  formed  by  two  sharp- 


90  SHOSHONE. 

edged  ledges  rising  abruptly  from  the  ground 
and  approaching  each  other  like  the  prows  of 
gigantic  ships.  They  are  of  bright-red  sand 
stone,  much  worn  by  time  and  weather.  Between 
them  runs  the  roadway.  One  of  the  cliffs  is 
three  hundred  feet  high,  and  the  other  slightly 
more  than  this. 

A  short  distance  from  the  gateway,  looking 
through  which  one  sees  into  the  Garden  and 
beyond  it  to  Pike's  Peak,  is  another  ledge  ris 
ing  like  a  slab  of  stone  from  the  ground,  whose 
color  is  a  brilliant  yellow.  The  contrast  be 
tween  the  red  and  yellow  is  odd  and  striking, 
yet  prepares  one  in  a  measure  for  the  scenes 
beyond.  Passing  the  gate  one  is  in  the  Garden. 
Westward,  at  the  end  of  a  circular  enclosure 
sloping  gradually  into  the  valley  leading  to 
Manitou,  are  the  mountains,  blue  now  in  the 
distance  and  guarded  by  Pike's  Peak,  while  all 
around  are  red  and  yellow  masses  of  rock,  scat 
tered  about  in  wild  confusion  and  carved  by 
Nature  into  strange,  weird  shapes.  Here  a  pillar 
of  red  sandstone  strongly  resembles  a  headless 
giant ;  here  a  yellow  pinnacle  bears  the  likeness 
of  a  man  with  his  hat  set  jauntily  on  one  side, 
and  his  nose*  of  huge  proportions.  There  are 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF    PIKE'S    PEAK.          9 1 

pulpits  and  castles,  domes  and  animals,  while 
the  colorings  are  as  varied  as  the  figures.  By 
moonlight  the  place  is  doubly  weird,  and  yet  is 
strangely  fascinating.  In  the  uncertain  light  of 
night  every  object  is  softened ;  but  yet  the  fig 
ures  are  more  real,  and  one  seems  lingering  in  a 
garden  filled  with  departed  heroes  of  gigantic 
frame. 

The  popular  recreation  at  Manitou  is  riding. 
Many  ride  who  evidently  never  rode  before.  It 
is  not  a  question  where  one  shall  go ;  it  is  rather 
how  he  shall  find  time  to  see  all  there  is  to  see. 
There  are  the  passes  leading  into  the  range  and 
through  the  forests ;  Glen  "Eyrie,  the  romantic 
nook  where  General  Palmer  has  built  his  castle- 
like  house ;  Crystal  Park,  set  in  a  verdant  ravine 
among  the  foothills ;  and  Ute  Pass,  the  old-time 
path  by  which  the  Indians  came  down  to  the 
valley  from  their  mountain  home.  In  early 
spring  the  air  of  the  Pass  is  heavy  with  the  per 
fume  of  myriads  of  wild-flowers,  while  at  all 
times  the  pines  send  forth  a  delightful  fragrance. 
The  trail  to  Crystal  Park  is  steeper  than  the  Pass, 
and  is  not  wide  enough  for  carriages.  In  places, 
indeed,  there  is  barely  width  enough  for  a  single 
horse  to  pick  his  way.  Climbing  higher  every 


92  SHOSHONE. 

minute,  the  way  at  last  leads  out  of  the  forests 
to  where  patches  of  snow  lie  among  ledges  of 
rock,  and  past  the  brink  of  deep  valleys,  far 
down  in  the  bottom  of  which  rush  angry  streams. 
And  when  the  Park  is  reached  at  last,  one  finds 
cool  shade,  and  there  is  an  extended  prospect  of 
the  plains. 

But  did  I  not  say  so?  Here  we  have  been 
wandering  about  the  base  of  Pike's  Peak,  seem 
ingly  ever  near  the  great  white  cone,  and  still 
not  once  within  its  shadow.  And  are  we  never 
to  get  there?  Well,  possibly.  We  can,  if  we 
wish ;  but  the  way  is  long,  the  path  is  rough. 
But  if  hardship  is  not  feared,  let  us  go.  Riding 
out  of  Manitou  past  the  Iron  Spring,  our  course 
leads  at  once  into  the  midst  of  a  thick  forest. 
The  path  we  follow  winds  in  serpentine  course 
among  the  tall  trees  and  by  the  side  of  moun 
tain  streams.  Onward  we  go,  and  ever  upward, 
and  at  last  are  out  of  the  forests  and  picking 
our  way  over  a  barren  waste,  above  which  rises 
the  Peak.  Now  we  are  in  the  shadow  of  the 
monarch ;  now  we  can  see  how  deep  the  gorges 
are  that  run  down  from  the  summit,  and  how 
deep  the  snows  are  that  glitter  so  brightly  in 
the  strong  sunlight.  How  alone  we  are  !  From 


IN   THE    SHADOW   OF   PIKE'S    PEAK.          93 

where  we  stand  the  silence  is  unbroken  save  by 
the  whistling  of  the  sharp  winds  as  they  howl 


ON  THE   ROAD   TO   PIKE  S   PEAK. 

about  us.     In  ages  past  some  terrible  earthquake 
has   heaved   the   rocks   into   the  confusion   now 


94  SHOSHONE. 

existing.  There  could  not  be  greater  disorder. 
The  granite  bowlders  are  tossed  into  every  con 
ceivable  position,  while  here  and  there  are  deep 
gulfs  into  which  we  dare  not  look.  As  we  move 
along  toward  the  summit  of  the  Peak  the  sun 
scorches  our  faces,  but  the  wind  is  cold  and 
biting.  The  progress  is  slow  and  tedious ;  but 
our  ponies  are  well  trained  and  careful,  knowing 
as  well  as  we  do  where  a  misstep  would  send 
them. 

But  at  last,  crossing  the  lava-strewn  hills  gath 
ered  around  Pike's  Peak,  we  cross  the  snow 
region  and  gain  the  summit.  We  have  been  in 
the  shadow,  and  now  have  escaped  from  it  and 
look  down  upon  it.  From  where  we  stand  we 
can  see  the  black  shadow  of  the  Peak  creep 
ing  slowly  but  surely  over  the  surrounding  foot 
hills,  over  the  forests,  over  the  bare  rough 
ledges.  But  before  it  reaches  Manitou  down 
there  in  its  narrow  valley,  the  night  has  come 
upon  us,  the  air  grows  cold  even  in  mid-August, 
the  stars  shine  like  diamonds  in  the  clear 
heavens,  and  the  shadow  of  Pike's  Peak  is  seen 
no  more. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO. 

IT  is  literally  through  the  heart  of  Colorado 
that  one  is  led  who  patronizes  the  Rio 
Grande  Road  between  Denver  and  Salt  Lake 
City.  The  line  is  a  most  remarkable  one,  in 
many  respects,  and  in  its  early  days  was  sur 
prisingly  active  and  ambitious.  When  Leadville 
was  discovered  and  became  the  objective  point 
of  Colorado  Roads,  it  waged  a  fierce  war  with 
the  Atchison  for  the  right  to  run  through  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Arkansas,  and  gained  its 
end.  Then,  in  after-years,  it  rapidly  formed  a 
net-work  of  lines  over  the  most  promising  sec 
tions  of  the  State,  and  at  last  pushed  westward 
across  the  mountains  to  the  valleys  of  Utah. 

To-day  the  Rio  Grande  is  one  of  the  great 
transcontinental  routes,  and  because  of  its  attrac 
tive  scenery  is  in  great  favor  among  all  trav 
ellers  in  the  middle  West.  What  one  may  see 
in  going  from  Denver  or  Colorado  Springs 


96  SHOSHONE. 

to  Salt  Lake  City  would  take  a  volume  to  de 
scribe.  On  no  other  road  in  the  country  is  there 
to  be  found  so  much  of  scenic  interest.  The 
road  cuts  its  way  through  deep,  gloomy  canons, 
climbs  high  mountains,  winds  through  narrow 
valleys,  reaches  seemingly  impossible  heights, 
and  in  the  end  follows  the  peaceful  Jordan  River 
to  the  city  of  Mormon  faith. 

From  Colorado  Springs  the  course  of  the  Rio 
Grande  is  due  south  along  the  face  of  the  Rock 
ies,  to  Pueblo,  a  busy  city  of  recent  growth 
and  more  important  as  a  commercial  centre 
than  it  is  attractive  to  the  eye.  From  here  the 
line  is  westward,  and  keeping  within  sight  of  the 
Arkansas  River  plunges  at  last  into  the  Grand 
Canon,  through  which  the  turbulent  mountain 
stream  cuts  its  way.  You  cannot  well  describe 
this  Royal  Gorge,  as  the  canon  is  called  in  the 
guide-books  of  the  road ;  for  in  reality  it  is  in 
describable.  You  may  not  appreciate  its  gran 
deur,  its  awful  sublimity,  at  first.  Very  likely 
you  will  not.  Acquaintance  renders  it  more  and 
more  impressive ;  at  first  it  does  not  seem  so 
remarkable  as  it  really  is. 

As  a  fact,  however,  the  narrow,  twisting  defile, 
hemmed  in  by  abruptly  rising  cliffs  of  solid, 


THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO.         97 

dark-colored  rock,  is  the  deepest  and  naturally 
most  impassable  canon  which  any  railway  in 
the  world  has  ever  attempted  to  penetrate.  It 
varies  from  one  thousand  to  two  thousand  five 
hundred  feet  in  depth,  and  even  now,  after  many 
obstructions  have  been  removed,  has  barely 
width  enough  for  the  passage  of  the  river  and 
train.  Formerly  it  was  absolutely  impassable 
except  one,  at  times,  took  to  the  river.  But 
when  it  was  decided  that  Leadville  must  be 
reached  man  set  about  the  work  of  widening  the 
narrow  places  and  removing  the  obstructing 
ledges.  Daring  workmen  lowered  themselves 
into  the  pass  from  the  cliffs  above,  placed  their 
explosives,  and  then,  with  scarcely  time  to  get 
away,  waited  for  the  moment  to  come  when  the 
rocks  would  be  shattered.  The  road  through 
the  gorge  was  built,  and  when  finished  was  the 
marvel  of  the  age,  and  the  admiration  of  en 
gineers  ;  for  it  extends  into  the  very  depths. 
Its  pathway  is  often  sunless,  forever  wrapped  in 
gloom.  The  cliffs  shut  out  the  light  of  day,  and 
the  loud  rumble  of  the  river,  lashed  into  foam, 
fills  the  place  and  echoes  from  wall  to  wall. 
The  gorge  is  like  an  entrance  to  some  infernal 
region,  —  full  of  Rembrandt  shadows,  treeless, 
7 


98  SHOSHONE. 

harsh,  and  wild.  High  above  you  see  the  deep- 
blue  Colorado  sky;  at  your  side  is  the  river;  on 
cither  hand  the  cliffs,  high,  unbroken,  the  sum 
mits  capped  with  pinnacles,  the  lower  walls 
smooth  and  bathed  with  the  gleaming  damp 
ness  of  hidden  springs. 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  road  runs  through 
this  strange,  weird  chasm,  this  uncanny  channel 
deep-set  among  the  hills  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains.  Then,  leaving  the  place  as  suddenly  as 
it  was  entered,  a  wider  valley  is  reached.  You 
are  well  up  among  the  mountains,  and  after  your 
detour  southward  are  nearly  due  west  of  Den 
ver  and  well  on  the  way  to  Salt  Lake.  In  the 
distance  are  passing  visions  of  mountains; 
some  snow-capped,  others  with  brown  slopes 
and  forest- crowned  tops.  Valleys  are  every 
where,  and  of  varying  width  and  length.  Fol 
lowing  one  there  are  glimpses  of  others.  In 
some  are  cattle,  feeding;  in  others  flat-roofed 
cabins  or  diminutive  settlements.  The  air  is 
delicious,  cooled  as  it  is  by  the  snow  on  the 
mountains  and  rarefied  by  the  elevation  you 
have  attained. 

At  Salida,  not  far  beyond  the  Grand  Canon, 
the  Rio  Grande  branches,  one  line  extending  to 


THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO.         99 

Leadville  and  the  other  passing  westward  beyond 
Poncho  Springs  toward  Marshall  Pass,  —  still 
another  of  those  scenic  features  which  give  the 
road  its  well-deserved  reputation.  As  you  ad 
vance,  the  busy  puffing  of  the  two  engines  tells 
the  story  of  the  high  grades  they  are  working  to 
overcome.  The  path  is  narrow,  the  surround 
ing  mountains  are  high,  and  at  last,  defying,  so 
you  say,  all  further  progress,  rises  a  vast  mound 
which  is  eleven  thousand  feet  high. 

Now  for  hours  comes  the  tug  of  war.  The 
road  lies  in  coils  on  the  mountain-side,  track 
above  track,  and  the  grade  so  steep  that  the 
nervous  are  afraid.  Half-way  to  the  top  the 
prospect  broadens.  Far  away,  their  peaks  ex 
tending  southward  to  the  San  Luis  Valley,  are 
the  Sangre  de  Christo  Mountains,  their  whiteness 
outlined  in  bold  relief  against  the  background  of 
wooded  hills.  Then  follow  other  curves  and  still 
steeper  grades,  and  at  last  the  summit  is  reached. 
You  are  on  a  water-shed  of  the  country.  On 
the  one  hand  is  the  Atlantic,  on  the  other  the 
Pacific  slope.  Patches  of  winter  snow  lie  in 
the  crevices  among  the  dark,  basaltic  rocks ; 
the  trees  are  bent  by  fierce  winds ;  the  height  is 
as  weird  and  uncanny  as  that  of  the  Brocken. 


100  SHOSHONE. 

West  of  Marshall  Pass  is  the  Gunnison  coun 
try.  Looking  down  upon  it  you  can  count  its 
hills  and  valleys,  and  can  trace  the  course  of 
Tomichi  Creek,  which,  born  at  your  side,  flows 
down  the  mountain-side  through  the  forests  and 
thence  into  and  along  the  valley  that,  later  on, 
you  yourself  pursue  on  your  fascinating  journey. 
It  is  very  extended,  this  prospect  which  Marshall 
Pass  commands.  You  are  above  the  world  of 
man ;  below  you  are  mountain-tops  and  dense 
forests.  The  view  is  very  beautiful,  all  fair  and 
natural.  .  No  towns  are  to  be  seen.  The  forests 
are  green  on  the  hill-sides  and  in  the  valleys. 

Gunnison* City,  the  metropolis  of  the  county 
whose  name  it  bears,  stands  in  the  centre  of  a 
vast  circular  basin  surrounded  by  hills,  which  in 
turn  are  guarded  by  mountains.  To  the  north 
of  the  city  is  Crested  Butte,  famous  for  its  coal 
deposits ;  and  beyond  it  are  the  mining  districts 
of  Ruby  and  Irwin.  If  you  have  time,  give  a 
week  or  more  to  the  several  camps  of  these  dis 
tricts.  You  will  be  well  repaid.  There  is  a 
railroad  to  Crested  Butte,  but  beyond  there  you 
travel  by  stage  or  on  horseback,  the  roads  lead 
ing  over  the  mountains  to  a  region  full  of  inter 
est.  If  of  a  practical  nature,  you  will  study  the 


THROUGH   THE   HEART  tTF3  COLORADO. '  'lOI 

mines  and  the  work  of  mining.  If  not  practical, 
—  if  a  sportsman  or  a  naturalist,  —  you  will  find 
infinite  amusement,  unlimited  opportunities  for 
enjoying  quiet  forests  and  fast-flowing  streams 
and  views  of  mountains  piled  together  in  inde 
scribable  confusion.  Does  a  ride  of  ten  miles 
tire  you  now?  Is  your  vitality  exhausted?  If 
so,  remain  a  month  in  the  Ruby  or  Irwin  dis 
tricts,  and  you  will  not  know  you  ever  were  so. 
The  air  is  a  tonic ;  the  scenery  an  inspiration. 
You  can  fish  and  hunt  and  live  out  of  doors  to 
your  heart's  content.  Nothing  is  conventional; 
all  is  novel. 

Beyond  Gunnison  the  railway  traverses  the 
valley  of  the  same  name,  closely  following  the 
Gunnison  River  and  encountering  nothing  but 
meadows  and  low,  grayish  cliffs.  Soon,  how 
ever,  the  channel  of  the  river  becomes  narrower. 
The  cliffs  are  higher  and  steeper,  the  vegetation 
is  less  abundant,  and  suddenly  the  sunlight  is 
cut  off  by  broken  summits,  and  the  Black  Canon 
of  the  Gunnison  holds  one  in  its  grim  embrace. 
It  is  grander  and  often  deeper  than  the  Royal 
Gorge.  It  is  thrice  as  long,  but  has  more  ver 
dure  ;  and  although  the  walls  are  dark-hued 
enough  to  give  the  place  its  name,  still  they  are 


102  SHOSHONE. 

of  red  sandstone  in  many  places,  and  from  their 
crevices  and  on  their  tops  shrubs,  cedars,  and 
pinons  grow  in  rich  abundance.  The  river  has 
a  deep  sea-green  color,  and  is  followed  to 
Cimarron  Creek,  up  which  the  road  continues, 
still  through  rocky  depths,  to  open  country 
beyond. 

The  Black  Canon  never  tires,  never  becomes 
commonplace.  Here  a  waterfall  starts  from  a 
dizzy  height,  is  dashed  into  fragments  by  lower 
terraces,  and,  tossed  by  the  winds,  reaches  the 
river  in  fine  white  spray ;  there  another  cataract 
leaps  clear  of  the  walls,  and  thunders  unbroken 
upon  the  ground  beside  us.  In  the  cliffs  are 
smaller  streams,  which  trickle  down  and  are  lost 
in  the  river  below.  At  times  the  canon  narrows, 
and  is  full  of  sharp  curves,  but  again  has  long, 
wide  stretches,  which  enable  one  to  study  the 
steep  crags  that  tower  heavenward  two  or  three 
thousand  feet.  Currecanti  Needle,  the  most 
abrupt  and  isolated  of  these  pinnacles,  has  all 
the  grace  and  symmetry  of  a  Cleopatra  obelisk. 
It  is  red-hued  from  point  to  base,  and  stands 
like  a  grim  sentinel,  watchful  of  the  canon's  soli 
tudes.  At  the  junction  of  the  Gunnison  and  the 
Cimarron  a  bridge  spans  the  gorge,  from  which 


CURRECANTI    NEEDLE,   BLACK   CANON. 


THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO.       105 

the  beauties  of  the  canon  are  seen  at  their  best. 
Sombre  shades  prevail ;  the  streams  fill  the  space 
with  heavy  roars,  and  the  sunlight  falls  upon  the 
topmost  pines,  but  never  reaches  down  the  dark- 
red  walls.  Huge  bowlders  lie  scattered  about; 
fitful  winds  sweep  down  the  deep  clefts ;  Nature 
has  created  everything  on  a  grand  scale ;  detail 
is  supplanted  by  magnificence,  and  the  place 
appeals  to  one's  deepest  feelings.  Long  ago 
the  Indians  of  the  region  built  their  council  fires 
here.  By  secret  paths,  always  guarded,  they 
gained  these  fastnesses,  and  held  their  grave 
and  sober  meetings.  The  firelight  danced  across 
their  swarthy  faces  to  the  cliffs  encircling  them. 
The  red  glow  lit  the  massive  walls,  the  surging 
streams,  and  clinging  vines.  The  Indians  may 
not  have  known  the  place  had  beauties,  but  they 
realized  its  isolation;  and  fearing  nothing  in  its 
safe  retreat,  spoke  boldly  of  their  plans. 

Emerging  from  the  Black  Canon,  the  railway 
climbs  Cedar  Divide.  From  here  the  Uncom- 
pahgre  Valley,  its  river,  and  the  distant,  pic 
turesque  peaks  of  the  San  Juan  are  within  full 
sight  of  the  traveller.  Descending  to  the  valley, 
and  following  the  river  past  Montrose,  the  Gun- 
nison  is  again  encountered  at  Delta.  Thence 


106  SHOSHONE. 

traversing  the  rich  farming  land  of  the  Ute  res 
ervation,  the  road  passes  through  the  lower 
Gunnison  Canon,  with  its  varied  and  attractive 
scenery,  to  Grand  Junction,  where  it  enters 
Grand  River  Valley.  The  space  of  over  one 
hundred  miles  intervening  between  the  Grand 
and  Green  Rivers  resembles  a  billowy  desert; 
and  while  the  most  uninteresting  part  of  the 
route,  is  far  from  dreary  or  monotonous.  Close 
by  on  the  north  are  the  richly  colored  Book 
Cliffs,  while  away  to  the  southward  the  snowy 
groups  of  the  Sierra  la  Sal  and  San  Rafael 
glisten  in  the  distance.  Between  them  may  be 
distinguished  the  broken  walls  which  mark  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado,  scarcely  fifty 
miles  away. 

The  belt  of  country  lying  between  the  merid 
ian  of  Denver  and  the  Pacific,  and  between  the 
thirty-fourth  and  forty-third  parallels,  has  been 
divided  by  Major  Powell  into  geologic  provinces, 
each  distinguished  by  characteristic  features. 
The  easternmost  he  calls  the  Park  Province.  It 
lies  in  Central  and  Western  Colorado,  and  ex 
tends  north  to  Wyoming  and  south  to  New 
Mexico.  The  next  province  westward  is  the 
Plateau,  occupying  a  narrow  strip  of  Western 


THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO.       IO/ 

Colorado,  a  similar  strip  of  Western  New  Mexico, 
a  large  part  of  Southern  Wyoming,  and  rather 
more  than  half  of  Utah  and  Arizona.  Still  west 
of  the  Plateau  Province  is  the  Great  Basin,  cov 
ering  Western  Utah,  the  whole  of  Nevada,  and  a 
small  portion  of  Oregon  and  Idaho.  The  Grand 
Canon  district  is  a  part  of  the  Plateau  Province. 
Nearly  four  fifths  of  its  area  of  thirteen  thousand 
square  miles  is  in  Northern  Arizona.  The  other 
fifth  is  in  Southern  Utah ;  and  it  is  this  remain 
ing  portion  which  lies  within  sight  of  the  point 
at  which  the  Rio  Grande  Road  crosses  Green 
River  and  turns  toward  the  mountains  overlook 
ing  the  Great  Basin. 

It  is  difficult  to  form  the  slightest  conception 
of  the  general  features  of  the  Plateau  Province. 
The  region  is  one  of  tables  and  terraces,  of 
buttes  and  mesas,  of  cliffs  and  canons.  In  its 
coloring  all  gentler  tints  are  lost,  and  in  their 
place  are  belts  of  brilliant  yellow,  red,  and  white, 
intensified  by  alternating  belts  of  gray.  The 
brilliantly  colored  cliffs  stretch  in  tortuous  course 
across  the  land  in  all  directions,  and  the  canons 
form  a  labyrinth  of  interlacing  gorges  from  five 
hundred  to  six  thousand  feet  deep,  which  lead 
down  to  the  chasm  of  the  Colorado  and  to  the 


108  SHOSHONE. 

canon  of  its  principal  fork,  the  Green  River. 
Standing  upon  any  elevated  spot  where  the 
radius  of  vision  reaches  out  fifty  or  a  hundred 
miles,  one  beholds  a  strange  spectacle.  The 
sculpture  of  the  canon  walls  and  of  the  cliffs  is 
very  wonderful.  There  is  an  architectural  style 
about  it  which  must  be  seen  to  be  appreciated. 
The  resemblances  to  architecture  are  real  and 
vivid,  and  cause  one  to  question  whether  the 
creations  can  be  those  of  the  blind  forces  of 
Nature.  Even  the  most  experienced  explorers 
are  filled  with  amazement  by  the  apparition  of 
forms  as  definite  and  eloquent  as  those  of  art. 

The  dividing  barrier  of  the  Plateau  Province 
is  the  Uinta  Range,  which  trends  east  and  west 
and  projects  from  the  eastern  flank  of  the  Wa- 
satch  Mountains  to  the  Park  Ranges  of  Colorado, 
—  a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles.  At 
its  southern  base  is  the  arid  desert  which  the 
Rio  Grande  traverses,  and  across  which  Green 
River  flows.  That  portion  of  the  province  lying 
north  of  the  Uinta  Mountains  is  a  celebrated 
field  for  the  study  of  the  Cretaceous  strata  and 
the  Tertiary  lacustrine  beds,  but  otherwise  is  un 
attractive.  The  country  to  the  southward,  how 
ever,  has  the  sublimest  scenery  on  the  continent. 


THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO.       1 09 

Its  surrounding  ranges  are  from  nine  thousand 
to  twelve  thousand  feet  high,  and  the  altitude  of 
the  region  itself  varies  from  five  thousand  to 
seven  thousand  feet.  From  Green  River  cross 
ing  you  can  faintly  see  the  outlines  of  the  cliffs 
and  buttes  that  rise  above  the  canons  which  the 
Colorado  and  its  tributaries  have  worn  through 
the  very  heart  of  the  old  ocean  bed.  Were  we 
to  follow  the  river,  winding  lazily  past,  it  would 
lead  us  to  the  flaming  gorges  and  lose  us  in  the 
channels  that  are  so  weird  and  yet  so  beautiful. 
Geologists  who  have  traced  the  course  of  many 
of  the  canons,  and  who  have  entered  that  of 
the  Colorado,  longest  and  grandest  of  all,  have  a 
strange  story  to  tell.  To  them  the  Plateau  is 
an  open  book,  the  cliffs  being  the  pages  on 
which  is  written  the  history  of  the  region.  In 
his  report  on  the  Canon  district  Captain  C.  E. 
Button  gives  an  exhaustive  description  of  its 
geologic  features  and  history.  From  the  begin 
ning  of  the  Carboniferous  period  to  the  close  of 
the  Cretaceous,  the  province  accumulated  nearly 
fifteen  thousand  feet  of  strata.  At  the  close  of 
the  latter  period  important  changes  occurred. 
The  marine  area  of  former  days  became  a  lacus 
trine  one,  and  for  a  time  Eocene  lacustrine  strata 


1 10  SHOSHONE. 

were  deposited  over  a  greater  part  of  the  sur 
face.  Then  new  displacements  began  by  faulting, 
flexing,  and  upheaving,  draining  the  lacustrine 
area  and  forming  a  river  system,  the  configura 
tion  of  which  was  determined  by  the  form  of  the 
emerging  surface.  The  new-made  land  was  at 
tacked  by  the  atmospheric  agencies  of  degrada 
tion.  The  present  Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado 
dates  its  origin  from  the  close  of  the  Miocene 
period.  Prior  to  that  time  the  river  was  engaged 
in  cutting  through  eight  thousand  to  ten  thou 
sand  feet  of  strata.  The  excavation  of  the 
present  chasm  is  the  work  of  the  Pliocene  and 
Quaternary  periods. 

All  who  have  seen  the  Grand  Canon  itself 
pronounce  it  the  most  sublime  of  earthly  spec 
tacles.  It  is  more  than  two  hundred  miles  long, 
five  thousand  to  six  thousand  feet  deep,  and 
from  five  to  twelve  miles  wide.  To  the  concep 
tion  of  its  vast  proportions  one  must  add  some 
notion  of  its  intricate  plan,  the  nobility  of  its 
architecture,  its  colossal  buttes,  its  wealth  of 
ornamentation,  and  the  splendor  of  its  colors. 
It  is  not  a  mere  canon,  as  the  word  is  commonly 
understood  ;  not  simply  a  dark,  deep  gash  in  the 
earth,  with  nearly  vertical  walls.  It  is  vastly 


THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO.       Ill 

more  than  this ;  more  complex,  more  beautiful, 
and  filled  with  exquisite  colors.  Underneath 
the  pale-gray  summits  of  the  measureless  walls 
are  pale-pink  cross  beds  of  sandstone ;  and  be 
low  these  are  belts  of  brilliant  red  a  thousand 
feet  deep,  and  projecting  ledges  of  brown  and 
vermilion  and  purple.  The  hues  deepen  or 
grow  faint  with  every  passing  hour  of  the  day, 
while  at  sunset  the  splendors  are  more  than 
earthly.  The  canon  grows  in  beauty,  power, 
and  dimensions.  The  grand  becomes  majestic, 
the  majestic  sublime.  The  expanse  within  is  a 
deep,  luminous  red,  and  the  clouds  above  shine 
with  orange  and  crimson.  Then,  gradually,  the 
shades  deepen  and  ascend,  hiding  the  sculptured 
walls,  and  leaving  their  tops  floating  on  a  sea  of 
blackness. 

The  Colorado  flows  with  great  rapidity  through 
its  canon,  the  average  fall  being  7.56  feet  to  the 
mile.  In  one  of  the  divisions  into  which  the 
gorge  is  subdivided,  it  is  12.07  ^ee^  to  the  mile. 
The  water  is  rarely  clear,  but  is  filled  with  a 
sandy  sediment  that  greatly  increases  the  corrad- 
ing  strength  of  the  on-rushing  streams.  There 
are  few  points  where  the  river  level  can  be 
reached.  As  a  rule  you  are  high  above  it,  the 


112  SHOSHONE. 

cliffs  rising  overhead  and  descending  far  beneath 
the  mid-way  shelf  on  which  you  stand.  As  for 
these  colored  walls,  which  so  shut  in  the  Colo 
rado,  who  shall  attempt  a  description  of  their 
towers  and  domes  and  colonnades?  Some  are 
almost  without  a  break  from  top  to  base ;  others 
contain  a  succession  of  shelves,  each  supporting 
some  quaint  ornamentation  of  brilliant  color. 
In  one  instance  is  a  row  of  towers,  more  than 
three  thousand  feet  high,  quarried  out  of  the 
palisade  and  well  advanced  from  its  face ;  in 
another  is  a  domelike  mass,  white  as  chalk  and 
streaked  with  ribbons  of  carmine.  Temples  and 
cathedrals  are  everywhere,  flashing  their  rich 
tints  upon  the  region  above  which  they  rise,  and 
their  bases  extending  into  the  depths  where  the 
river  runs.  Wherever  he  goes  one  will  see  the 
same  beautiful  creations ;  and  to  relieve  the  gen 
eral  features  of  any  possible  monotony  he  will 
here  and  there,  far  down  in  the  levels  of  the 
canons,  find  narrow  patches  of  bright-green  ver 
dure,  fringed  with  brown  banks  of  talus  thrown 
down  from  the  cliffs  above.  In  all  the  West 
there  is  no  district  so  well  worth  one's  study  as 
that  of  the  Colorado  Canon ;  and  the  geological 
reports  about  it  are  fascinating  reading. 


CASTLE    GATE. 


THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO.       115 

Beyond  Green  River  and  Castle  Valley  com 
mences  the  steep  ascent  of  the  Wasatch  Moun 
tains,  and  the  beautiful  in  nature  again  appears, 
the  first  effect  being  Castle  Gate,  guarding  the 
entrance  to  Price  River  Canon,  through  which 
the  railway  runs.  Castle  Gate  is  similar  in  many 
respects  to  the  gateway  to  the  Garden  of  the 
Gods.  The  two  huge  pillars,  or  ledges  of  rock 
composing  it,  are  offshoots  of  the  cliffs  behind. 
They  are  of  different  heights,  one  measuring 
five  hundred,  and  the  other  four  hundred  and 
fifty  feet,  from  top  to  base.  They  are  richly 
dyed  with  red ;  and  the  firs  and  pines  grow 
ing  about  them,  but  reaching  only  to  their 
lower  strata,  render  this  coloring  more  noticeable 
and  beautiful.  Between  the  two  sharp  promon 
tories,  separated  only  by  a  narrow  space,  the 
river  and  the  railway  both  run,  one  pressing 
closely  against  the  other.  The  stream  leaps 
over  a  rocky  bed,  and  its  banks  are  lined  with 
tangled  brush.  Once  past  the  gate,  and  looking 
back,  the  bold  headlands  forming  it  have  a  new 
and  more  attractive  beauty.  They  are  higher 
and  more  massive,  it  seems,  than  when  we  were 
in  their  shadow.  Church-like  caps  hang  far 
over  the  perpendicular  faces.  No  other  pinna- 


Il6  SHOSHONE. 

cles  approach  them  in  size  or  majesty.  They 
are  landmarks  up  and  down  the  canon,  their 
lofty  tops  catching  the  eye  before  their  bases 
are  discovered. 

It  was  down  Price  River  Canon,  and  through 
Castle  Gate,  that  Sydney  Johnson  marched  his 
army  home  from  Utah.  For  miles  now,  and 
until  the  mountains  are  crossed,  the  route  chosen 
by  the  General  is  closely  followed.  The  gate 
way  is  hardly  lost  to  view  by  a  turn  in  the  canon 
before  we  are  scaling  wooded  heights.  The 
river  is  never  lost  sight  of.  The  cliffs  which 
hem  us  in  are  filled  with  curious  fo.rms.  Now 
there  is  seen  a  mighty  castle,  with  moats  and 
towers,  loopholes  and  wall ;  now  a  gigantic  head 
appears.  At  times  side  canons,  smaller  than  the 
one  we  are  in,  lead  to  verdant  heights  beyond, 
where  game  of  every  variety  abounds. 

From  Castle  Gate  to  the  Utah  Valley,  the 
Railway  winds  among  the  mountains  of  the 
Wasatch  Range.  From  the  summit  down  to 
lower  levels  again,  the  route  is  through  canons 
illumined  with  vari-colored  pinnacles  of  rock. 
Then,  almost  without  warning,  the  mountains 
are  left  behind.  Before  you  stretch  the  great 
central  valleys  of  Utah.  In  the  far  distance  is  the 


THROUGH   THE   HEART   OF   COLORADO.       1 1/ 

Salt  Lake ;  and  at  its  side  is  the  Mormon  city. 
The  road  passes  through  Utah  Valley,  oblong 
in  shape,  lighted  by  its  lake,  and  rendered  fair 
to  look  upon  by  its  continuous  meadows  and 
orchard-surrounded  towns.  Eastward  the  basin 
is  shut  in  by  the  Wasatch  Mountains ;  and  on 
the  west  is  the  Oquirrh  Range.  Northward  are 
low  hills,  or  mesas,  crossing  the  valley  and 
separating  it  from  that  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake ; 
while  in  the  south  the  east  and  west  ranges 
approach  each  other  and  form  blue-tinted  walls 
of  uneven  shape.  To  the  left  of  this  barrier 
Mount  Nebo,  highest  and  grandest  of  the  Utah 
peaks,  rises  majestically  above  all  surroundings. 
Its  summit  sparkles  with  snow ;  its  lower  slopes 
are  wooded  and  soft,  while  from  it,  and  extend 
ing  north  and  south,  run  vast,  broken,  vari 
colored  heights.  The  valley  is  like  a  well-kept 
garden,  and  you  leave  it  with  regret. 

The  Rio  Grande  road  advertises  itself  as  the 
"  Scenic  Line."  Those  who  have  followed  me 
in  the  brief,  spasmodic  glances  at  its  attractions 
will  grant  the  title,  I  think.  As  you  pass  out  of 
Utah  Valley  and  enter  that  of  the  river  Jordan, 
extending  northward  toward  Salt  Lake  City, 
one's  thoughts  are  of  the  past,  conjuring  up  the 


Il8  SHOSHONE. 

pictures  of  the  strange  gorges  through  which 
you  have  passed,  and  the  heights  you  have 
climbed.  The  reality,  so  wonderful,  seems  al 
most  an  unreality ;  and  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
hour  you  are  ready  to  acknowledge  the  little 
narrow  gauge  Road  to  be  anything  and  every 
thing  which  its  owners  claim. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GLIMPSES   OF  UTAH. 

UTAH  is  the  great  middle  West  Territory. 
Isolated  for  years,  and  only  lately  begin 
ning  to  receive  the  attention  so  richly  deserved, 
it  was  long  considered  an  utterly  worthless  por 
tion  of  our  country,  and  was  left  severely  alone. 
When  the  Mormon  emigrants,  led  by  Brigham 
Young,  looked  upon  the  valley  of  the  river 
Jordan,  now  teeming  with  life  and  cultivation, 
they  saw  only  a  region  which  had  never  felt  the 
plough  or  the  spade,  but  which  still  appeared 
to  the  little  band  ol  outcasts  the  very  spot  where 
for  them  there  were  rest  and  peace  and  safety. 
Sick  and  footsore  from  their  long  tramp  across 
the  trackless  wastes  of  the  wide  West,  they 
hailed  the  central  valley  of  Utah,  which  they 
have  since  so  beautified  and  adorned,  as  a  mod 
ern  paradise;  and  rushing  down  from  Emigra 
tion  Canon,  as  the  gorge  by  which  they  entered 


120      .  SHOSHONE. 

Utah  is  called,  they  began  to  erect  cottages  and 
to  cultivate  the  fields  which  have  become  famous 
to-day  for  their  fruitfulness  and  attractiveness. 

Had  a  Mormon  been  told  when  he  first  came 
to  Utah  that  he  ever  would  be  disturbed  in  his 
new  possession ;  had  it  been  imagined  even  that 
railways  would  ever  be  built  into  Utah,  or  that 
the  Gentiles  from  the  East  would  seek  the 

mountain-guarded  valleys  of  the  Territory, it 

may  be  doubted  if  the  disciples  of  the  Latter 
Day  Saints'  Church  would  have  been  willing,  or 
would  have  dared,  to  do  for  Utah  and  with  it 
what  they  have.  But  the  future  had  no  terrors. 
Even  Brigham  Young,  ablest  of  his  people,  then 
and  for  many  years  believed  that  the  newly 
acquired  country  to  which  he  and  his  followers 
had  been  led  was  safe  from  invasion  by  enemies 
of  the  Church,  and  would  never  see  a  Gentile. 
Infusing  this  belief  into  subjects  ever  ready  to 
follow  his  advice,  Young  urged  the  settlement 
and  cultivation  of  the  valley,  and  lived  to  see  it 
blossom  and  bear  fruit,  and  his  city  to  attain 
proportions  that  called  forth  the  highest  enco 
miums  of  the  world. 

Long  before  Utah  was  generally  visited,  Salt 
Lake   City  was  a  thriving  metropolis,  a  city  of 


GLIMPSES    OF   UTAH.  121 

large  and  handsome  buildings,  wide  streets,  pub 
lic  halls,  and  energetic  inhabitants.  Indeed,  it 
was  the  city  which  attracted  visitors  to  Utah. 
Its  fame  became  international ;  and  as  for  the 
valley,  at  the  head  of  which  the  city  is  located, 
it  was  likened  to  a  modern  Arcadia,  and  was 
sung  of  by  poets  and  praised  by  all.  Every  one 
wanted  to  see  the  wonderful  region  which  had 
been  a  desert,  but  had  become  a  garden;  and 
little  by  little  foreigners  to  the  Church  came 
over  the  high  mountains  and  overran  the  Mor 
mon  land.  During  the  past  years  especially, 
the  invaders  have  rapidly  increased  in  numbers ; 
and  to-day  Utah,  with  its  verdant  valleys  and 
sunny  basins,  its  snow-capped  peaks  and  culti 
vated  fields,  has  railways  and  mills  and  Gen 
tiles,  and  the  old-time  authority  of  the  Mormon 
Church  is  menaced  on  every  hand.  The  isola 
tion  of  the  Territory  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  The 
deserts  have  proved  of  no  avail.  The  new  era 
has  come.  Capital  from  Gentile  pockets  has 
opened  the  mines,  laid  rails  throughout  the  val 
leys,  become  a  power  whose  future  mastery  is 
inevitable.  The  country  is  still  a  Mormon 
stronghold ;  but  the  outer  walls  of  the  Mormon 
castle  are  down,  and  over  the  ruins  storms  that 


122  SHOSHONE. 

restless  army  of  men  whose  aim  is  wealth,  and 
whom  no  obstacles  deter  or  frighten. 

Utah,  by  which  is  generally  meant  that  por 
tion  of  it  lying  around  and  to  the  south  of  Salt 
Lake  City,  is  at  its  best  rather  early  in  the  sea 
son,  in  May  and  June,  or  late,  in  September 
and  October.  In  May  the  snow  has  left  the 
valley,  which  lies  between  two  parallel  ranges 
with  whitened  tops,  and  the  trees  are  green. 
Then  the  fields  are  ploughed  and  the  sunshine 
is  warm  in  the  sheltered  region.  The  season 
is  like  a  New  England  spring-time,  soft,  dreamy, 
and  half- awake,  and  odorous  with  the  perfume 
of  budding  leaves. 

Later  in  the  season,  when  the  crops  are  gath 
ered,  the  fruits  picked,  and  the  broad  fields, 
watered  by  the  river  Jordan,  lie  yellow  in  the 
clear  bright  air,  the  shrubs  on  the  mountain 
sides  are  a  Wilderness  of  color.  Then  the  days 
are  sharp  and  crisp,  and  distant  summits  lose 
their  August  haziness  and  stand  like  sentinels 
guarding  the  flowery  land.  Fresh  from  the 
dreary  plains  surrounding  Utah,  one  feels  on 
reaching  the  Jordan  Valley  that  he  has  found 
a  veritable  garden.  Even  the  half-finished  ap 
pearance,  so  characteristic  of  other  Western 


GLIMPSES   OF  UTAH.  125 

scenes  and  towns,  is  conspicuous  by  its  absence. 
The  Mormons,  whatever  else  they  may  have 
omitted  doing  or  becoming,  have  good  taste 
and  are  busy  workers.  Their  cottages  are  neat 
and  trim,  and  are  enshrined  in  the  midst  of 
trailing  vines  and  blossoming  flowers  ;  their 
roads  are  wide  and  smooth ;  and  their  fields 
are  carefully  cultivated  and  extend  throughout 
the  length  and  width  of  the  valley. 

Salt  Lake  City  is  a  curious  town,  quaint  in 
its  architecture,  and  in  its  general  appearance 
having  a  strange  commingling  of  the  beautiful 
and  commonplace.  It  is  divided  into  large 
square  blocks  of  ground,  some  occupied  by 
large  stores,  and  others  by  pretentious  houses 
of  yellow  brick  or  wood,  with  gardens  all 
around  them.  The  one  main  street  of  the  city, 
which  has  a  width  and  length  apparently  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  business  requirements 
of  the  place,  runs  nearly  due  north  and  south 
from  the  mountain  back  of  the  city  toward  the 
valley  beyond.  Facing  this  are  the  largest 
shops  of  the  town,  including  the  co-operative 
establishment  belonging  to  the  Mormon  Church, 
and  the  high  adobe  walls  behind  which  are  the 
Temple,  Tabernacle,  Tithing-yard,  and  resi- 


126  SHOSHONE. 

dencc  of  the  Mormon  president.  Branching 
east  and  west  from  this  thoroughfare,  down  the 
sides  of  which  run  two  streams  of  clear  water, 
acting  as  scavengers  of  the  city,  are  the  less 
important  streets,  containing  the  smaller  stores 
and  residences. 

Were  it  not  for  the  fact  of  there  being  such 
variety  in  the  architecture  of  the  several  dwell 
ings,  Salt  Lake  might  appear  angular  and  pro 
saic.  But  hardly  two  houses  are  alike,  and  the 
gardens  separating  them  give  one  the  impres 
sion,  at  times,  that  he  is  sojourning  in  a  New 
England  village,  where,  as  here,  there  are  green 
trees  hanging  over  picket  fences,  and  cool,  fresh 
lawns,  with  gravelled  walks  leading  through 
them  to  spacious  porches.  There  is  an  air  of 
solid  comfort  about  these  Utah  houses  which 
invites  one's  good  opinion  and  entices  him  to 
linger.  They  are  large  and  light  and  cheerful, 
and  one  looks  in  vain  for  evidences  of  that  Mor 
mon  family  redundancy  which  so  many  suppose 
is  glaringly  present  in  a  city  founded  and  ruled 
by  disciples  of  polygamy.  So  far  as  there  is 
external  indication,  the  homes  one  sees  at  Salt 
Lake  City  might  be  those  of  well-to-do  people 
in  the  East,  who  had  gained  a  competency  and 


GLIMPSES    OF   UTAH.  12; 

who  now  proposed  enjoying  their  remaining 
days  in  peace  and  comfort. 

Brigham  Young  was  a  good  deal  of  an  auto 
crat  in  his  day,  and  loved  ease  and  comfort  and 
luxury  better,  possibly,  than  he  did  his  numer 
ous  wives.  His  old  home,  now  occupied  by  his 
successor,  stands  at  the  right  of  the  Tithing- 
yard,  and  enjoys  the  suggestive  name  of  the 
Bee  Hive.  Well  for  the  peace  of  mind  of 
the  departed  Brigham  if  there  were  not  times 
when  his  many  helpmates  rendered  the  abode 
worthy  the  name  of  Hornet's  Nest.  Either  the 
former  president  was  an  amiable  man  of  most 
pronounced  type,  or  he  was  a  stern  disciplina 
rian.  Otherwise,  with  so  many  wives,  his  life 
could  hardly  have  been  a  joyous  one. 

Looking  to-day  at  the  home  he  occupied, 
with  its  large  porch  in  front,  its  three  stories,  its 
dormer  windows,  suggestive  of  many  rooms,  one 
tries  to  imagine  what  his  life  at  home  was  like, 
and  what  his  power  was.  But  there  the  "  pal 
ace  "  stands,  with  its  windows  all  intact;  and 
Brigham  sleeps  hard  by,  at  rest  at  last,  whether 
he  ever  was  in  life  or  not.  The  mansion  is  a 
comfortable  old  place,  wide  and  spacious,  and 
sedate  in  its  appearance ;  and  by  it  stands  the 


128 


SHOSHONE. 


smaller  house  where  the  former  ruler  had  his 
office,  and  from  which  he  directed  the  affairs  of 
this  people.  The  passing  years  have  brought 
but  little  change  to  the  places.  Time  has 
chipped  the  yellow  bricks  here  and  there,  and 
mellowed  the  door-posts;  but  the  outer  wall  sur- 


- 


THE  TEMPLE  AND  TABERXACLE,  SALT  LAKE. 

rounding  the  buildings  is  still  high  and  strong, 
and  the  office   looks  as   it   did  when  the   ablest 
man  the  Mormons  will  ever  see  sat  in  his  arm 
chair  and  ruled  like  a  king  of  the  realm. 
The    enclosure    containing    the    Temple    and 


GLIMPSES   OF  UTAH.  1 29 

Tabernacle  is  the  pride  of  every  Mormon,  and 
the  Mecca  of  all  strangers.  Entering  it  through 
a  wide  gateway  opening  upon  the  main  street, 
one  stands  at  once  before  the  unfinished  walls 
of  the  new  Temple,  which  even  now  afford  a 
realistic  suggestion  of  what  the  structure  is  to 
be  like  when  the  work  is  finished.  Millions 
have  already  been  expended  on  the  Temple, 
and  it  has  been  in  process  of  construction  ever 
since  1868,  and  will  require  a  dozen  years  of 
labor  yet  before  the  work  is  done.  Made  with 
solid  blocks  of  native  granite,  quarried  in  the 
canons  of  the  Wasatch  Range,  the  walls  are 
fifteen  feet  in  thickness,  and  the  building  is 
massive  in  every  particular.  It  is  designed  to 
contain  the  several  offices  of  the  Church,  and  the 
polygamous  marriages  will  be  celebrated  there. 
Its  architecture  is  purely  Gothic,  and  its  outlines 
are  full  of  grace  and  strength.  The  money  for 
its  erection  was  raised  by  the  imposition  of 
certain  taxes,  and  the  structure  will  cost,  when 
finished,  nearly  $6,000,000.  It  will  be  made 
entirely  of  granite  and  brick,  to  the  utter  ex 
clusion  of  wood-work  of  any  description. 

Just  behind  the  new  Temple  is  the  Tabernacle, 
its  huge  rounded  roof  resting  on  circular  walls 
9 


130 


SHOSIIONE. 


of  brick  enclosing  the  spacious  interior.  From 
a  distance  the  structure  resembles  an  upturned 
boat,  and  a  nearer  acquaintance  fails  to  dis 
close  any  remarkable  beauty  in  the  far-famed 
church.  It  has  a  seating  capacity  on  the  floor 


PULPITS    AND   ORGAN. 


of  the  house  of  twelve  thousand,  and  four 
thousand  people  can  be  accommodated  in  the 
gallery,  which  extends  around  three  sides  of 


GLIMPSES    OF  UTAH.  131 

the  hall,  and  is  supported  by  seventy-two  pil 
lars.  The  length  of  the  building  is  two  hundred 
and  fifty  feet,  and  its  width  is  one  hundred  and 
fifty.  There  are  twenty  doors  opening  at  once 
into  outer  air,  and  the  interior  can  be  cleared 
of  people  in  five  minutes.  In  the  centre  of  the 
auditorium  stands  a  stone  fountain,  at  which 
baptisms  take  place.  In  front  of  this  is  the 
great  organ,  and  before  it  are  the  pulpits  and 
president's  desk,  and  seats  for  the  choir  singers. 

Opposite  the  Tabernacle  stands  a  solemn- 
looking  building  of  Gothic  design,  in  which 
services  are  held  during  the  winter  months  when 
the  larger  house  is  too  cold  to  be  available.  It 
is  not  so  commodious  as  the  Tabernacle,  but  has 
a  seating  capacity  of  some  eight  thousand,  and  is 
in  most  respects  a  finer  structure  than  its  neigh 
bor  across  the  way.  It  is  built  of  stone,  and 
graced  at  its  outer  corners  by  four  small  towers. 
The  interior  is  elaborately  frescoed  in  pictures 
illustrative  of  the  new  religion  of  which  Joseph 
Smith  is  the  founder  and  patron  saint.  There 
is  an  ideal  representation  of  Maroni  showing 
Joseph  where  the  tablets  were  hid  in  the  hill  of 
Cumorah ;  a  view  of  the  pioneers  entering  the 
valley  in  1847;  an<^  an  inscription  announcing 


132  SHOSIIONE. 

the  fact  that  the  "  Church  of  Jesus  Christ  of 
Latter  Day  Saints"  was  organized  in  1836. 

The  Endowment  House,  where  polygamous 
marriages  were  performed,  stands  in  the  north 
west  angle  of  the  Temple  enclosure.  Admit 
tance  to  the  place  is  never  given  a  Gentile,  and 
one  is  left  to  stand  outside  and  imagine  what 
there  is  within.  A  heavy  penalty  is  attached  to 
whoever  discloses  the  secrets  of  the  Endowment 
House,  and  it  is  questionable  how  much  reliance 
may  be  placed  in  the  stories  which  from  time  to 
time  have  been  given  the  believing  public. 

Taken  as  a  whole,  Salt  Lake  City  is  prepos 
sessing.  Famed  for  its  almost  universal  clean 
liness,  it  has  also  a  commanding  situation, 
well-arranged  streets,  large  public  and  private 
buildings,  and  attractive,  even  beautiful,  sur 
roundings.  Directly  behind  the  city,  overlook 
ing  it  and  the  valley,  is  Ensign  Peak.  From  its 
top  one  has  the  best  of  Utah  at  his  feet.  From 
below  comes  the  murmuring  sigh  of  busy  life. 
There  to  the  right  is  the  lake,  motionless  and 
cold ;  there  are  the  mountains  faintly  outlined 
in  the  distance,  but  nearer  showing  their  rough 
sides  and  gaping  canons.  Flowing  down  the 
valley  is  the  Jordan,  sweeping  past  farm  and 


GLIMPSES   OF  UTAH.  133 

village;  to  the  left  is  Camp  Douglas,  with  its 
cannon-guarded  plaza,  its  cottages,  and  its 
waving  flag.  The  coloring,  if  the  season  is 
favorable,  is  exquisite,  —  dark-blue  on  the  dis 
tant  hills,  green  in  the  valley,  brown  on  the 
foothills,  rich  with  golden  hues  where  the  frosts 
of  early  fall  have  touched  the  maples  and  the 
quaking  asps.  One  looks  from  garden  to  wil- 
•derness,  upon  fresh  streams  and  upon  a  salty 
inland  sea.  There  is  picturesqueness  here  and 
grandeur  there;  softly  outlined  peaks  of  blue, 
and  granite  ledges  bare  of  trees;  while  near  by 
is  the  city,  perched  on  its  quick-sloping  bench 
of  land,  and  commanding  the  varied  prospect. 

The  most  important  suburban  attraction  of 
Salt  Lake  is  that  famous  inland  sea  lying  to  the 
west  of  the  city,  and  to  which  the  Union  Pacific 
Railroad  has  extended  a  branch  line.  Garfield, 
the  terminus  of  the  road,  is  to  Salt  Lake  what 
Coney  Island  is  to  New  York.  During  the  long 
summer  season  the  place  is  the  resort  of  thou 
sands  who  flock  there  to  enjoy  the  delicious 
coolness,  and  to  bathe  in  the  lake.  A  monster 
pavilion,  with  bath-rooms,  cafe,  spacious  balco 
nies,  and  a  long  promenade  extending  two  hun 
dred  and  seventy  feet  from  the  shore,  has  lately 


134  SHOSHONE. 

been  completed.  At  the  end  of  the  promenade 
is  a  smaller  pavilion  for  the  accommodation  of 
dancing  parties.  With  its  extended  view  of  the 
placid  lake  and  valley,  Garfield  is  an  ideal  re 
sort.  Tired  with  sight-seeing  and  travel,  one 
finds  there  a  perfect  rest.  Sitting  on  the  balcony 
at  sundown,  a  new  insight  is  had  into  the  beau 
ties  of  Utah.  The  lake,  usually  so  colorless,  is 
crimsoned  by  the  setting  sun,  and  in  the  far  dis 
tance  westward  the  mountains  become  heaps  of 
purple,  clearly  outlined  against  the  brilliant  sky. 
Every  color  is  intensified,  and  only  the  tiny 
waves  rolling  in  upon  the  whitened  sands  dis 
turb  the  restful  quiet. 

At  the  height  of  the  season  the  pavilion  is 
crowded.  An  orchestra  plays  on  the  balcony, 
and  one  may  dine  as  he  watches  the  daylight 
fade  away  and  the  moonlit  evening  steal  over 
the  enchanting  picture.  Those  so  desiring  may 
live  at  Garfield  while  making  the  acquaintance 
of  Salt  Lake.  Frequent  trains  are  run  between 
it  and  the  city,  and  the  hotel  accommodations 
are  excellent. 

Few  who  notice  the  general  dryness  of  the 
Utah  climate,  or  who  regard  the  lake  as  an  in 
significant  body  of  water,  shallow,  salt,  and  list- 


GLIMPSES  OF  UTAH.  135 

less,  will  at  once  be  able  to  appreciate  the  fact 
that  at  one  time,  and  more  than  once  indeed, 
the  present  lake  had  a  depth  of  over  a  thousand 
feet,  and  covered  the  lowlands  which  to-day 
have  their  towns,  railroads,  farms,  and  people. 
Lake  Bonneville,  as  the  geologists  call  this  vast 
inland  sea  of  long  ago,  had  an  area  as  great  as 
that  of  Lake  Huron  to-day.  At  first  the  waters 
were  shallow  as  those  of  Salt  Lake  are  now. 
Then  they  gradually  rose  and  spread,  flooding 
the  region  and  forming  high  upon  the  mountain 
sides  those  clearly  marked  "  shore  lines,"  which 
one  can  still  trace  and  by  which  the  eventful 
history  of  Bonneville  is  unfolded.  Later,  the 
waters  receded,  and  the  lake  not  only  dwindled 
in  size  but  utterly  disappeared,  leaving  a  plain 
even  more  desolate  than  the  Great  Salt  Lake 
Desert  of  to-day.  Then  again  came  the  flood, 
the  lake  rising  even  above  its  former  height  and 
eventually  overflowing  the  basin  at  its  northern 
edge  and  sending  a  tributary  stream  to  the 
Columbia  River.  Following  this  flood  came  a 
second  recession,  and  the  water  diminished  in 
volume  until  nothing  remained  but  the  present 
salty  lake.  There  were  volcanic  movements 
during  the  periods  of  the  great  flood,  and  the 


136  SHOSHONE. 

high  mounds  that  now  stand  in  the  midst  of  arid 
plains  were  created  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
lake.  The  history  of  the  epoch,  as  told  by 
geologists,  is  replete  with  interest ;  and  the  facts 
deducted  from  the  careful  studies  now  being 
made,  lead  one  to  question  how  long  the  present 
era  will  last,  and  when  there  will  come  another 
period  of  humidity  during  which  Great  Salt 
Lake  will  again  caress  the  mountains  and  hide 
all  evidence  of  the  present  civilization  beneath 
its  wind-swept  waters. 

In  a  paper  published  with  the  report  of  the 
Director  of  the  United  States  Geological  Survey, 
Mr.  G.  K.  Gilbert  gives  a  full  description  of  the 
so-called  ."  shore  lines,"  by  which  is  measured 
the  height  that  the  waters  of  Lake  Bonneville 
reached,  and  analyzes  the  causes  which  pro 
duced  the  overflow  and  the  manner  in  which 
the  present  information  was  gained.  The  story 
has  been  learned  from  the  shore  line  upon  the 
mountain  sides,  from  the  waters  of  the  present 
lake,  from  the  alluvial,  clay,  and  marl  deposits 
at  the  base  of  the  cliffs,  and  from  the  arid  des 
erts  and  volcanic  creations.  The  very  stones 
have  been  made  to  speak;  and  the  deductions 
are  so  logical  that  Bonneville  seems  of  the  pres- 


GLIMPSES   OF  UTAH.  137 

ent  rather  than  of  the  past,  and  is  easily  thought 
of  as  still  bathing  the  heights  which  are  far  above 
the  lake  at  whose  side  we  stand.  The  structural 
formation  of  the  earth's  surface  was  never  inter 
rupted  by  the  floods.  The  islands  we  see  were 
mountains  once,  and  the  isolated  buttes,  standing 
in  the  midst  of  arid  plains,  were  islands.  Before 
Bonneville  existed,  its  basin  had  not  even  the 
water  it  now  contains ;  and  even  after  the  first 
flood  it  became  dry  once  more,  and  the  salty 
sediment  was  buried  beneath  the  layers  of  earth 
that  were  washed  to  the  basin  by  the  inflowing 
rivers.  So  deep  was  this  coating  of  alluvium, 
that  the  second  flood  could  not  dissolve  it,  and 
Bonneville  was  a  fresh  water  lake.  It  is  facts 
such  as  these  that  the  cliffs  and  deposits  of  clay 
and  marl  are  made  to  tell.  The  story  is  full 
of  strange  surprises,  and  the  deductions  drawn 
render  the  great  basin  more  interesting  to  the 
student  than  it  can  be  even  to  the  most  ardent 
admirer  of  its  grandeur  and  picturesqueness. 

Briefly  stated,  the  changes  which  Lake  Bonne 
ville  experienced  imply  that  there  were  two  dis 
tinct  climatic  epochs  in  its  history,  both  being 
of  excessive  moisture  or  cold,  and  which  were 
separated  by  an  interval  of  superlative  dryness 


138  SHOSHONE. 

and  preceded  by  a  climatic  period  comparable 
with  the  present.  The  first  epoch  of  humidity 
was  by  far  the  longer,  and  the  second,  which 
caused  an  overflow  of  the  lake,  the  more  intense. 
The  phenomena  occurred  during  the  Quaternary 
time,  which  is  the  geologic  yesterday,  and  were 
coincident  with  the  volcanic  activity  of  the  Ter 
tiary  period,  which  presumably  has  not  yet 
ended. 

The  "  shore  lines  "  on  the  mountains  are  dis 
tinctly  visible.  The  level  tracings  have  the 
characteristics  of  ocean  shores  subject  to  wave 
action,  —  by  which  all  sea  cliffs  and  beaches  are 
formed,  —  and  extend  all  about  the  lower  slopes 
of  the  ranges  which  enclose  the  Utah  Basin. 
The  two  best-defined  ones  are  respectively  one 
thousand  and  four  hundred  feet  above  the  level 
of  Great  Salt  Lake,  and  are  named  the  Bonne- 
ville  and  the  Provo.  Between  them  are  four  or 
five  other  lines  to  which  no  particular  names  are 
given.  The  Bonneville  shore  line  owes  its  dis 
tinction  to  the  fact  that  it  marks  the  limit  be 
tween  the  wave-wrought  surface  below  and  the 
rain-sculptured  forms  which  rise  above.  The 
shore  lines  are  so  clearly  defined  that  they  at 
once  led  to  the  belief  that  Lake  Bonneville, 


GLIMPSES   OF  UTAH.  139 

which  created  them,  had  an  outlet,  since  a  body 
of  water  dependent  upon  evaporation  alone  could 
not  have  maintained  its  level  sufficiently  long  to 
make  so  clearly  defined  wave  lines.  Search  was 
therefore  made  for  the  supposed  outlet,  which 
at  last  was  found  at  the  northern  extremity  of 
Cache  Valley.  The  sill  over  which  the  waters 
were  first  discharged  was  soft  and  soon  wore 
away,  permitting  the  lake  to  be  rapidly  lowered. 
The  second  sill  was  harder  and  held  the  lake  at 
a  constant  level,  until  its  overflow  was  stopped 
by  the  climatic  changes  that  finally  diminished 
the  water  supply.  The  level  of  the  first  sill  has 
been  found  to  be  that  of  the  Bonneville  "  shore 
line,"  and  the  level  of  the  second  sill  to  be  that 
of  the  Provo  "shore  line," -- facts  that  satisfac 
torily  correlate  the  history  of  the  overflow  with 
the  history  of  the  most  'conspicuous  "  shore 
lines." 

That  Bonneville  twice  rose  until  its  size  was 
ten  times  that  of  the  present  lake ;  that  its  bed 
was  once  a  dry  basin  with  a  climate  similar  to 
that  of  the  present  time,  —  the  geologists  have 
little  difficulty  in  proving.  The  successive  up 
risings  are  shown  by  the  yellow  clay  and  white 
marl  precipitants  on  the  mountain  sides.  The 


140  SHOSHONE. 

one  was  deposited  at  one  period,  and  the  other 
at  another;  and  dividing  the  two  is  a  layer  of 
alluvium  which  could  only  have  been  formed 
during  a  season  of  dryness,  and  after  the  flood 
which  had  precipitated  the  lower  stratum  of 
yellow  clay  had  subsided. 

The  evidence  of  rain-sculpture  everywhere 
observed  on  the  slopes  of  the  mountains,  now 
half  submerged  by  the  alluvial  deposits,  proves 
the  Bonneville  basin  to  have  been  absolutely 
waterless  before  the  lake  itself  first  had  an 
existence.  On  this  supposition  alone  can  the 
peculiar  formations  which  are  produced  by  the 
action  of  rain  upon  the  most  enduring  surfaces 
be  explained.  Had  there  been  a  lake,  the  rain 
sculpture  could  not  have  been  created  beneath 
the  surface.  It  is  possible,  to  be  sure,  that  the 
basin  had  a  lower  outlet  than  that  of  the  Bonne 
ville  "  shore  line ;  "  but  during  the  period  re 
quired  for  the  burial  of  the  mountain  bases 
barriers  must  have  existed,  or  the  desert  could 
not  have  retained  the  detritus. 

The  erosion  subsequent  to  the  time  when 
Bonneville  was  depositing  its  marl  and  clay  has 
been  immaterial.  The  sea  cliffs,  the  embank 
ments,  the  sand  bars,  and  beaches,  are  almost 


GLIMPSES   OF   UTAH.  141 

as  perfect  as  though  the  lake  had  but  just  left 
them.  There  are  bowlders  of  quartzite  and 
other  enduring  rock  which  still  retain  the 
smooth,  glistening  surfaces  which  the  waves 
gave  them  so  long  ago. 

Great  Salt  Lake  has  an  altitude  of  4,260  feet, 
and  covers  an  area  of  nearly  four  thousand 
square  miles.  The  water  contains  about  fifteen 
per  cent  of  salt  in  perfect  solution,  and  is  of 
such  specific  gravity  that  bathers  find  it  almost 
impossible  to  sink.  The  lake,  like  the  Dead  Sea, 
has  now  no  outlet.  Though  several  rivers  empty 
into  it,  there  is  never  any  overflow.  Evapora 
tion  alone  prevents  inundation.  At  Garfield  the 
beach  is  hard  and  shelving.  Year  by  year  the 
shore  becomes  more  popular  as  a  resort,  and 
in  time  will  have,  like  Newport,  its  villas  and 
animated  life. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
SHOSHONE. 

AUGUST  was  lazily  counting  its  last  days 
before  we  were  ready  to  leave  the  king 
dom  of  Mormonism.  We  had  already  decided 
to  go  north  to  the  Shoshone  Falls  (Sho-sho-nee) 
in  Southern  Idaho,  and  from  there  to  the  Yel 
lowstone.  September,  we  were  told,  was  the 
best  of  all  months  in  which  to  see  the  famous 
Park. 

Getting  out  of  Utah  is  nearly  as  interesting  as 
entering  the  Territory.  The  journey  northward 
toward  Ogden  is  not  so  picturesque,  perhaps,  and 
the  scenery  en  route  is  not  so  varied  and  sub 
lime  ;  but  the  views  one  has  of  valley  and  hill 
are  pastoral,  and  for  an  hour  at  least  the  road 
closely  follows  the  curving  shore  of  the  lake. 
Looking  upon  the  vast  expanse  of  water,  so 
quiet  and  mysterious,  one  recalls  the  strange 
history  of  the  salty  sea  which  sleeps  so  serenely 


SHOSHONE.  145 

iii  the  midst  of  a  waterless  desert.  There  are 
no  fish  in  Salt  Lake,  and  but  few  boats  are 
ever  seen.  As  a  rule  the  shores  are  flat  and 
sandy,  white  with  layers  of  salt;  but  far  away 
to  the  westward  are  high  mountains,  wonder 
fully  colored  and  having  the  roughest  possible 
contour. 

It  is  very  customary  to  regard  the  middle 
West  as  utterly  lacking  in  historical  interest. 
That  its  modern  history  is  meagre  one  cannot 
deny ;  and  the  story  of  the  time  when  the  Indians 
held  it  and  waged  their  barbarous  battles  against 
the  invaders  from  the  East  is  soon  told,  and  is 
now  too  well  known  to  bear  repeating.  But 
in  view  of  what  we  already  know  through  the 
geologists,  one  will  feel  that  our  deserts  are  not 
so  barren  of  interest  as  might  be  supposed.  Not 
every  country  in  the  world  has  once  been  the 
bed  of  an  ocean.  There  was  a  vast  amount 
of  irresistible  force  employed  in  the  dim  past, 
—  a  force  that  drank  the  sea  dry  and  that 
levelled  mountains  and  fashioned  the  strange 
objects  that  to-day  gaze  down  upon  us  from 
their  crumbling  heights.  Plough  the  desert 
sands,  and  you  will  turn  up  monster  sea-shells ; 
and  wherever  you  go  there  will  be  heard  the 


146  SHOSHONE. 

piping  notes  of  birds  you  arc  accustomed  to 
find  along  our  New  England  coast.  I  have 
always  taken  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  hearing 
the  plaintive  notes  of  these  little  exiled  sand 
pipers  of  the  desert.  The  disappearance  of 
the  sea  must  have  been  most  unexpected  and 
sudden  to  have  left  these  water-loving  birds 
stranded  where  the  waves  may  never  come 
again. 

Mormon  farm-houses  are  scattered  along  the 
entire  way  between  Salt  Lake  and  Ogden.  Each 
has  its  orchard  and  garden  and  ample  hay-stack, 
while  a  few  are  so  large  that  one  mentally  fills 
them  with  a  numerous  family.  Much  of  the 
land  bordering  the  lake  is  very  productive. 
The  long  wide  fields  we  saw  were  all  yellow 
with  stubble,  and  piles  of  rosy-red  apples  were 
scattered  about  the  orchards. 

The  town  of  Ogden,  one  of  the  termini  of  the 
Union  Pacific,  and  a  place  well  remembered  by 
all  transcontinental  travellers,  is  not  an  interest 
ing  town,  nor  a  picturesque  one.  It  might  have 
been  both,  for  the  site  of  the  city  afforded  great 
opportunities.  The  mountains  encircle  it  on 
three  sides,  and  southward  is  a  delightful  view 
down  the  valley  to  the  lake.  Nature's  sugges- 


SHOSHONE.  147 

tions  have  be^n  in  vain,  however,  and  the  houses 
are  provokingly  ugly. 

Of  the  mountain  ranges  contained  in  the 
Great  Basin  none  compare  either  in  height  or 
beauty  with  that  of  the  Wasatch.  From  Ogden 
the  view  of  the  range  is  particularly  satisfying. 
Its  canons,  opening  upon  the  valley  which  the 
city  occupies,  are  watered  by  mountain  streams, 
and  the  rocky  walls  are  of  red-tinged  sandstone 
relieved  by  strata  of  pale  yellow  and  gray. 
From  the  higher  limits  of  the  gorges  the  outlook 
is  over  many  miles  of  country.  Far  southward 
is  Mount  Nebo,  the  highest  peak  of  the  range ; 
nearer  at  hand  is  Great  Salt  Lake,  and  in  the 
distance  are  the  sharp-pointed  or  flat-topped 
buttes  which  the  Bonneville  waters  have  left 
stranded  in  the  midst  of  treeless  wastes.  The 
area  of  the  Great  Basin,  larger  than  that  of  the 
Middle  and  Eastern  States  combined,  lies  all 
around  you.  Looking  upon  it  the  history  of 
its  formation  comes  vividly  to  your  rnind,  and 
its  extended  limits  teach  once  more  the  utter 
impossibility  of  trying  to  see  all  the  West  in 
one  season. 

The  geological  survey  of  the  Basin  involves 
the  study  of  many  topics.  Each  mountain  has 


1 48  SHOSHONE. 

a  variety  of  strata  and  a  history  of  its  own,  and 
the  district  as  a  whole  contains  every  known 
group  of  formations.  You  cannot  fully  study  it 
in  sections,  for  the  various  geologic  systems  — 
the  Archaean,  the  Paleozoic,  the  Mesozoic,  and 
the  Tertiary  —  are  each  developed  in  so  many 
localities  that  no  one  can  be  understood  until 
the  whole  area  is  traversed.  Volcanic  rocks  are 
everywhere,  and  the  phenomena  attending  the 
growth  and  decay  of  mountains  are  always 
present. 

If  the  restricted  areas  that  owe  their  configu 
ration  to  the  recent  action  of  lakes  or  oceans  or 
to  the  passage  of  glaciers  are  excepted,  it  may 
be  said  that  the  whole  surface  of  the  land  exem 
plifies  the  "  plastic  art  of  rain."  Other  causes 
produce  the  hills  and  mountains,  but  rain  is  the 
agent  which  develops  the  forms  that,  in  the 
West,  are  such  noticeable  features  of  the  land 
scape.  Its  work  is  untiring  and  systematic,  de 
structive  and  constructive.  It  tears  down  and 
builds  up.  In  summer  the  heavy  showers  wage 
yearly  war  upon  the  crumbling  headlands ;  and 
in  winter  the  frosts  in  the  crevices  force  bowl 
ders  from  their  long  resting-place.  The  curious 
forms  of  red  or  yellow  sandstone  are  not  the 


SHOSHONE.  149 

result  of  accident  but  of  design.  Every  object 
that  we  shall  see,  wherever  we  travel  now,  is  an 
example  of  rain-sculpture.  Some  will  be  more 
wonderful  than  others.  In  the  Yellowstone  they 
will  have  surprising  beauty ;  but  whatever  their 
degree  of  perfection  they  are  still  the  exempli 
fication  of  a  force  in  Nature  that  is,  in  a  great 
measure,  the  moulder  of  continents. 

The  only  direct  road  from  Ogden  to  the  town 
of  Shoshone,  the  nearest  railway  point  to  the 
Great  Falls,  is  the  Utah  &  Northern.  It  is  op 
erated  by  the  Union  Pacific,  and  from  Ogden  to 
Pocatello,  in  Southern  Idaho,  is  narrow  gauge. 
From  Pocatello,  north  to  Butte  and  other  Mon 
tana  points,  it  is  broad  gauge.  At  the  first- 
named  town  it  connects  with  the  Oregon  Short 
Line,  extending  westward  across  Idaho  to  the 
leased  line  by  which  the  Union  Pacific  enters 
Portland.  Leaving  Ogden  at  noon  one  reaches 
Pocatello  at  six.  After  supper  there  the  Oregon 
Short  Line  train  is  taken  for  Shoshone,  —  a 
straggling  little  village  whose  lights  greet  you 
on  your  midnight  arrival.  The  long  journey 
of  the  day  has  not  been  an  eventful  one ;  nor 
has  the  scenery  been  very  attractive.  From 
Ogden  the  Road  leads  past  the  high  fronts  of 


1 50  SHOSHONE. 

the  Wasatch  Range,  through  winding  valleys 
containing  a  succession  of  Mormon  farms  and 
villages.  Later  on  the  mountains  are  seen  only 
in  the  distance,  and  in  their  place  are  dark-hued 
volcanic  ledges  that  skirt  the  edge  of  far-reaching 
plains. 

Shoshone  being  so  very  dead,  one  cannot 
with  propriety  speak  of  it  otherwise  than  kindly. 
In  itself  it  is  unimportant.  The  country  sur 
rounding  it  is  covered  with  layers  of  dark-col 
ored  lava,  and  is  so  barren  that  the  Shoshone 
cows  eye  every  empty  tomato-can  with  greedy 
interest.  I  doubt  if  the  town,  small  as  it  is, 
would  have  even  its  present  proportions  were  it 
not  that  south  of  it  are  the  Shoshone  Falls,  and 
on  the  northwest  the  Wood  River  mining  coun 
try.  Tourists  seek  the  one  attraction,  and  for 
tune-hunters  the  other;  and  so  far  both  have 
been  well  paid  for  their  trouble.  There  is  a 
branch  of  the  railroad  from  Shoshone  to  the 
mines,  and  to  the  Falls  is  a  wagon  road  twenty- 
five  miles  long,  over  which  we  drove,  and  over 
which  I  strongly  urge  every  lover  of  what 
ever  is  indescribably  beautiful  and  grand  and 
sublime  in  Nature's  handiwork  to  drive.  After 
seeing  the  Falls  we  were  ready  to  forgive  the 


SHOSHONE.  151 

town  anything,  —  even  the  dismal  welcome  it 
gave  us  the  night  of  our  arrival,  or  the  prospect 
it  revealed  in  the  morning  when  we  for  the  first 
time  looked  upon  the  surrounding  fields  of  lava. 

The  conveyances  used  in  going  to  the  Falls 
are  decidedly  primitive.  Ours  was  an  old  Dead- 
wood  coach,  lined  with  faded  plush,  and  deco 
rated  on  the  outside  by  a  bundle  of  hay,  —  a 
tempting  bit  of  luxury  which  half-a-dozen  cows 
were  hungrily  eying.  The  sun  was  hardly  up 
before  we  were,  and  had  only  begun  his  work 
of  lighting  the  country  when  we  took  stage-and- 
four  and  rattled  smartly  out  of  town.  The  lava 
beds  stretched  all  around  us,  and  only  in  the  far 
distance  could  we  see  any  hills.  Southern  Idaho 
is  strikingly  different  in  general  appearance  from 
the  northern  portion  of  the  Territory.  In  the 
latter,  mountains  are  omnipresent,  and  there  are 
heavy  forests  of  pine,  fir,  and  balsam.  In  the 
south  the  levels  are  continuous,  —  treeless,  nearly 
grassless,  and  so  barren  and  deserted  that  during 
our  entire  drive  there  were  no  houses  to  be  seen. 
Jack-rabbits  and  occasionally  a  passing  horse 
man  were  the  only  living  features.  All  was 
dark  and  silent,  —  so  still  indeed  that  the  wind, 
which  whistled  through  the  creaking  sides  of 


152  SHOSHONE. 

the  old  coach,  was  like  that  which  at  sea  sighs 
through  the  rigging  of  a  ship. 

It  is  not  a  hard  drive  to  the  Falls,  —  if  one 
forgives  the  joltings  he  gets  when  too  rapid  time 
is  made  over  certain  parts  of  the  road,  —  and 
the  few  hours  of  our  journey  were  soon  gone. 
Looking  ahead,  in  the  direction  of  the  river  we 
were  soon  to  reach,  we  could  see  no  sign  of  it. 
To  all  appearance  the  levels  were  unbroken. 
At  last  W.,  who  acted  as  guide,  pointed  to  a 
solitary  pinon  that  stood  boldly  outlined  in  the 
distance,  and  said  the  river  ran  at  its  base. 
Keeping  the  tree  in  view,  and  sure  of  our  in 
formation,  we  were  still  unable  to  find  even  the 
suggestion  of  the  near  presence  of  a  river.  To 
our  eyes  there  was  nothing  beyond  our  imme 
diate  surroundings,  —  solitary  plains,  listless  and 
bare. 

Then,  at  last,  came  the  revelation  and  the 
indescribable  view  of  the  erratic,  rock-bound 
river.  Reaching  the  tree,  we  left  the  coach  and 
crawled  out  upon  the  blackened  rocks.  Below 
us  opened  the  canon  through  which,  a  thousand 
feet  below  the  upper  levels,  the  river  Snake 
has  its  course.  The  distance  from  where  we 
stood  to  the  water  below  seemed  measureless. 


SHOSHONE.  155 

The  canon  was  like  a  mighty  rent  in  the  earth,  — 
an  opening  cut  deep  into  the  surface  and  with 
solid  walls  of  rock  rising  abruptly  from  the 
river's  edge.  In  a  dark  night,  if  unacquainted 
with  the  country,  one  would  drive  headlong  in 
to  this  gorge ;  and  the  river,  at  the  bottom,  would 
sweep  away  all  trace  of  the  tragedy.  Even  by 
day  one  might  easily  stumble  into  the  canon. 
There  is  nothing  to  herald  its  nearness ;  nothing 
to  save  one  who  makes  the  first  false  step. 

The  Snake  River  is  a  tributary  of  the  Colum 
bia,  joining  the  latter  in  Eastern  Washington. 
It  is  born  in  Wyoming,  of  the  many  streams 
that  have  their  source  among  the  mountains 
there,  and  flows  westward  through  a  canon  that 
for  length  and  depth,  and  beauty  of  a  rugged 
order,  is  one  of  the  marvels  of  the  world. 
Standing  on  its  brink,  or  gazing  upward  from 
the  level  of  the  river,  the  impression  upon  one's 
mind  is  the  same.  You  are  oppressed  by  a 
sense  of  the  awfulness  of  the  creation ;  and 
watching  the  river  moving  along  so  calmly  as 
it  does  just  before  the  Falls  are  reached,  you 
wish  you  could  give  it  the  green  banks  of  some 
of  the  streams  you  know.  There  was  never  a 
day  during  our  Shoshone  visit  that,  for  a  mo- 


156  SHOSHONE, 

ment,  the  region  did  not  become  a  hideous 
reality  from  which  I  longed  to  escape.  But 
all  such  moments  were  followed  by  hours  when 
the  very  height  of  the  walls  that  hemmed  us 
in,  and  the  wild  noise  of  the  falling  river  fas 
cinated  and  exhilarated.  You  should  see  the 
river  gather  itself  together  for  its  leap  into  the 
lower  depths  of  the  canon ;  should  listen  to 
the  roar  it  makes :  should  feel  the  earth  tremble 
with  the  shock ;  should  watch  the  rising  mists, 
ghost-like  in  the  moonlight ;  should  give  days 
to  the  isolated  place,  to  know  the  fascinations 
of  Shoshone  Falls.  Telling  one  how  high  the 
Falls  are,  how  deep  the  canon  is,  gives  no  idea 
of  the  place  itself,  of  its  coloring,  and  of  its 
weirdness.  The  canon  is  a  world  by  itself,  full 
of  novelties  and  strange  sights.  Night-loving 
bats  live  in  the  caverns  that  honeycomb  the 
cliffs ;  and  on  the  top  of  a  high,  slim  pinnacle 
of  red  rock,  rising  amid-stream,  an  eagle  has 
her  nest  and  rears  her  brood.  There  are  points 
overlooking  the  Falls  where,  unless  strong,  you 
will  feel  ill  and  dizzy;  and  there  are  others 
where  you  will  delight  to  sit  and  read. 

Above    the   Falls,  at   the    ferry  crossing,  the 
river  is  wide,  deep,  and  smooth.     The  cliffs  are 


SHOSHONE.  159 

reflected  on  its  surface  as  clearly  as  though  the 
Snake  were  a  mirror.  It  is  there  that  one  takes 
his  daily  row,  calling  for  echoes  as  he  glides 
past  the  overhanging  ledges,  and  gaining  a 
point  at  last  where  there  is  a  view  up  the  stream, 
beyond  a  series  of  rapids,  to  the  Twin  Falls, 
light  and  feathery  against  their  background  of 
rock.  In  a  meditative  mood  one  seeks  this 
quieter  part  of  the  river  for  the  restfulness  it 
offers.  Bushes  and  tufts  of  grass  cling  to  the 
water's  edge,  and  there  are  isolated  caves  which, 
deep-set  and  rock-bound  though  they  are,  still 
have  their  sense  of  peace  and  quiet  and  repose 
that  is  most  welcome  after  the  wild  tumult  of 
the  canon  below. 

To  meet  the  demands  of  the  constantly  in 
creasing  number  of  tourists  visiting  Shoshone, 
a  rough  wagon  trail  has  been  constructed  down 
the  north  wall  of  the  canon  to  the  level  of  the 
river.  The  path  is  long  and  steep,  and  com 
mands  an  extended  view  of  the  upper  canon. 
At  the  river-side  is  a  short  stretch  of  sand, 
occupied  by  a  solitary  cottage  belonging  to 
Mr.  Walgamott,  the  guide  under  whose  care 
one  visits  the  various  objects  of  interest.  A 
stone's-throw  beyond  his  little  cottage  is  the 


160  SHOSHONE. 

ferry,  —  a  flat-bottomed  boat  guided  by  wire 
cables  and  worked  by  a  windlass.  Driving 
upon  this  we  crossed  the  river  to  the  south 
bank.  There,  a  few  rods  from  the  landing,  is 
the  little  hotel  that  has  lately  been  built.  It 
stands  on  a  high  bluff  directly  over  the  Falls, 
and  has  an  outlook  both  up  and  down  the  wind 
ing  length  of  the  canon.  The  house  is  well 
managed,  as  we  found  to  our  delight,  and  the 
rooms  and  table  are  excellent.  Stages  make 
daily  trips  from  Shoshone  to  the  hotel ;  and  the 
Falls,  at  last,  have  publicly  made  their  bid  for 
the  approval  of  the  multitude. 

The  actual  length  of  the  Shoshone  Canon  is 
seventy  miles.  Thirty  miles  below  the  entrance 
to  the  gorge  the  principal  scenic  features  begin. 
From  near  its  source  to  the  eastern  end  of  the 
canon  the  Snake  flows  above-ground  through 
an  area  that  is  unparalleled  for  the  height,  num 
ber,  and  beauty  of  its  mountains.  It  has  nearly 
forty  tributaries,  —  some  of  them  fed  by  geysers 
and  others  by  melting  glaciers,  —  and  its  waters 
are  the  coldest  of  any  known  river. 

The  American  Fall,  forty  feet  high,  is  the 
first  cataract  of  the  river  as  it  flows  down 
stream.  It  is  here  that  the  Oregon  Short  Line 


SHOSHONE.  l6l 

crosses  the  Snake.  Far  beneath  the  bridge  one 
sees  the  boiling  waters,  their  whiteness  relieved 
by  uprising  ledges  of  volcanic  rock.  Were  it 
not  for  Shoshone,  the  American  Falls  would  be 
famous.  As  it  is,  they  are  neglected  for  the 
more  wonderful  cataracts  farther  westward. 

Seventy  miles  beyond  the  railroad  crossing 
the  grand  canon  begins.  The  river,  ever  rest 
less,  sinks  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  surface  of 
the  earth.  Now  it  lashes  itself  into  foam,  now 
tumbles  over  obstructing  ledges.  Here  placid 
as  a  mill-pond  and  scarcely  moving,  it  again 
rushes  madly  onward,  deaf  to  all  entreaty.  It 
is  like  a  fiend,  I  think,  loving  darkness  rather 
than  light,  battling  with  its  walls,  raging  at  its 
confinement.  Sometimes  the  water  is  emerald- 
green,  light  and  transparent ;  then  it  is  dark,  and 
the  froth  floating  on  its  surface  is  as  eider  down, 
by  contrast. 

The  first  cataracts  within  the  canon  are  the 
Twins,  or  Upper  Shoshone  Falls.  They  have 
a  single  leap  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  feet. 
A  huge  rock,  caught  in  mid-stream,  divides  the 
river  into  two  channels,  each  seventy  feet  wide, 
and  through  these  the  water  flows.  The  basin 
which  receives  the  Falls  is  nearly  circular  in 


1 62 


SHUSIIONE. 


shape,  and  is  like  a  boiling  caldron,  filled  with 
troubled  waters  and  sending  forth  dense  masses 
of  spray. 

Below    the    Twins    is    a    half-mile    of   rapids. 
Farther   down,  the   river   grows    tranquil   again, 


-j 


THE  TWIN  SHOSHONE  FALLS. 

and  then,  a  few  rods  from  the  ferry-crossing, 
contracts  to  a  width  of  less  than  six  hundred 
feet,  and  makes  noisy  preparation  for  its  great 
est  fall.  At  the  ferry  is  heard  the  loud  roar  of 
the  water  as  it  strikes  the  hidden  ledges  below ; 
while,  shrouding  the  long  white  line  marking  the 


SHOSHONE.  163 

point  of  actual  fall,  are  the  heavy  mists  which 
rise  high  toward  the  tops  of  the  cliffs  and  are 
tossed  about  by  the  winds. 

Near  the  brink  the  river  widens  to  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  and  is  divided  by  three  rocks,  corre 
sponding  to  the  islands  in  the  rapids  at  Niagara. 
Just  below  these  a  smaller  island  forces  the 
water  to  the  left  in  a  small  cataract  about  fifteen 
feet  high.  To  the  right  is  Cedar  Island,  between 
which  and  its  mate  are  small  falls,  or  rapids, 
whose  waters,  uniting,  sweep  past  a  crescent- 
shaped  beach  to  the  final  plunge.  To  the  right 
of  Cedar  Island  the  river  is  obstructed  by  red- 
tinged  rocks,  with  sturdy  little  pines  clinging 
to  their  tops,  that  form  a  most  picturesque 
series  of  falls.  Between  two  of  these  islands  is 
the  Bridal  Veil  Fall.  Next  to  it  is  the  Bridal 
Train.  Both  have  a  leap  of  eighty-two  feet, 
and  bear  a  wonderful  resemblance,  as  the  water 
glistens  in  the  sunlight,  to  the  faultless  lace  of 
a  royal  bride's  veil  and  train.  "  While  watch 
ing  this  enchanting  spectacle,"  says  a  writer, 
"  one  can  fancy  the  gothic  arch  of  the  cave  to 
the  right  the  entrance  to  a  chapel,  and  in  the 
delicious  murmur  of  the  jewelled  drops  trickling 
from  the  rocks  near  by  can  detect  the  soft 


1 64  SHOSHONE. 

strains  of  Mendelssohn,  or  in  the  roar  of  the 
Great  Falls  below  imagine  the  thunders  of 
Wagner,  in  Lohengrin." 

At  Niagara  the  river  falls  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet  in  twenty-five  miles.  At  Sho- 
shone  the  Snake  descends  five  hundred  feet  in 
four  miles.  The  Great  Fall  of  Shoshone  is 
crescent-shaped,  and  is  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  feet  high  by  nine  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
wide.  The  plunge  is  unbroken.  Facing  it  one 
sees  a  quivering  wall  of  water  that  stretches 
from  one  side  of  the  canon  to  the  other.  The 
roar  is  deafening,  and  its  force  so  great  that 
the  displaced  air  is  as  fierce  as  a  tornado. 
The  earth  trembles  from  the  blow  it  receives. 
You  yourself  are  drenched  with  spray;  and  the 
rising  mist  is  like  a  fog  at  sea,  blown  hither 
and  thither,  and  so  catching  the  sun's  rays  as 
to  form  arch  upon  arch  of  glorious  color. 

The  high  bluff  on  which  the  hotel  stands 
makes  quick  descent  to  the  river  at  the  brink  of 
the  Great  Fall,  and  is  overgrown  with  juniper- 
trees.  Through  the  grove  are  pathways  to  vari 
ous  points  of  observation.  From  one  of  these, 
named  Lookout  Point,  the  view  embraces  the 
river  both  above  and  below  the  Great  Fall, 


UNDER   THE   GREAT    FALLS,    SHOSHONE. 


SHOSHONE.  167 

whose  crest  is  at  your  feet.  Up-stream  the 
Snake  is  a  mass  of  cataracts,  milky-white,  while 
for  their  background  are  the  tall  black  cliffs  of 
the  canon,  their  sombre  coloring  making  the 
whiteness  whiter  and  the  lace-like  appearance 
more  pronounced.  Between  the  upper  cascades 
and  the  Great  Fall  the  river  is  full  of  anima 
tion.  It  fairly  glistens  with  anticipation  of  its 
wild  leap.  Its  waves,  nearing  you,  beat  upon 
the  rock  which  is  your  foothold,  and  noisily  roll 
upon  the  little  stretch  of  sanded  beach  which 
extends  in  crescent  line  from  the  brink  you 
overlook  to  the  Mill  Race  Cascade,  a  short 
distance  away. 

But  fascinating  as  this  view  is,  one  must  not 
neglect  that  down  the  canon.  It  has  not  the 
varied  beauty  of  the  other,  perhaps,  but  its 
sublimity  is  fascinating.  Rising  from  the  awful 
depths  are  clouds  of  mist,  through  which  you 
see  the  river  nearly  five  hundred  feet  below,  still 
fretful  and  strewn  with  foam,  but  resolutely  rush 
ing  onward  to  whatever  new  dangers  it  may  en 
counter.  Its  width  is  less  now  than  it  was,  and 
the  canon  walls  are  higher.  As  you  look,  the 
waters  round  a  projecting  angle,  and  beyond 
there  is  nothing  but  the  solid  walls  of  rock. 


1 68  SHOSHONE. 

The  beauty  of  Shoshone  Falls  is  that  they  bear 
study.  The  more  you  know  of  them,  the  better 
acquainted  you  become  with  them,  the  more 
strongly  they  appeal  to  you.  We  viewed  them 
from  every  point.  If  desirous  of  picturesque 
effects,  we  selected  Lookout  Point;  if  anxious 
for  more  startling  features,  we  sought  the  narrow 
level  that  clings  to  the  cliffs  below  the  Great 
Fall.  It  is  there  that  one  gains  a  full  conception 
of  the  size  and  power  of  this  Western  rival  of 
Niagara. 

Besides  those  I  have  mentioned,  the  canon 
of  the  Snake  has  many  other  attractions.  In 
the  cliffs  at  the  foot  of  the  Great  Falls  are 
curiously  fashioned  caves.  In  one  the  roar  of 
the  waters  reverberates  in  sounds  like  the  paddle- 
wheels  of  a  steamer  run  at  full  speed  ;  in  another 
—  an  ear-shaped  grotto  two  hundred  feet  high, 
and  named  ''Diana's  Bath-room"  —  cold  drops 
of  water  trickle  from  the  ceiling  walls,  and  are 
caught  by  a  stone-rimmed  basin  set  in  the 
floor  of  the  vaulted  chamber.  The  trail  to  the 
river  level  below  the  Falls  is  down  a  steep 
embankment  nearly  one  thousand  feet  high. 
The  descent  and  the  returning  climb  form  no 
inconsiderable  labor  for  the  inexperienced ;  and 


SHOSHONE.  I/I 

yet  I  am  sure  that  none  will  regret  the  exertion. 
At  the  base  of  the  trail  the  ground  is  covered 
with  water-soaked  timber,  that  has  been  hurled 
over  the  Falls  and  tossed  upon  the  shore ;  and 
in  the  crevices  of  the  high  vertical  walls  of  the 
gorge  are  moss-grown  cedars,  dripping  with 
moisture. 

Among  the  more  prominent  landmarks  around 
the  Falls  are  Dewey's  Bluff,  one  thousand  and 
fifty  feet  high,  Sentinel  Rock,  Lover's  Leap,  — 
that  never  had  a  tragedy,  —  Creighton's  Bluff, 
Walgamott  Island,  and  the  Natural  Bridge.  Be 
neath  the  latter,  as  through  a  frame,  one  sees 
the  silvery  front  of  the  Great  Fall,  and  in  the 
distance  the  bold  outlines  of  Dewey's  Bluff.  The 
walls  of  the  canon  are  everywhere  cut  into  gigan 
tic  basaltic  and  trachytic  columns,  whose  coloring 
is  red,  yellow,  brown,  and  black. 

The  scenery  near  the  Twin  Falls  is  made  inter 
esting  by  the  geological  features.  You  can  trace 
the  course  of  the  caiion  for  a  mile  or  more,  and 
your  best  view  of  the  cataract  is  from  the  high 
embankment  at  the  base  of  which  the  river 
speeds.  In  our  pilgrimage  to  the  Twins  we 
'drove  along  the  south  side  of  the  river  to  the 
entrance  to  Adams'  Canon.  Leaving  our  team 


SHOSHONE. 


there  we  walked  through  the  rock-strewn  gorge. 
It  is  full  of  fitful  shades,  and  is  shut  in  by  tower 
ing  cliffs.  It  is  wonderfully  impressive,  and 
Dante,  I  am  sure,  would  have  revelled  in  its 
dark  beauty.  The  huge  blocks  of  stone  are 
often  set  with  great  precision,  much  as  though 
human  hands  had  done  the  work.  But  again, 
the  walls  are  full  of  rough  projections  and  pene 
trated  by  mysterious-looking  caves. 

At  the  end  of  Adams'  Canon  is  an  open  space 
extending  to  the  brink  of  the  river.  You  can, 
if  inclined,  reach  the  base  of  the  Twin  Falls  ; 
but  the  path  is  steep,  and  at  the  end  of  your 
labor  you  are  wet  with  spray,  and  your  ears  are 
deafened  by  the  noise.  It  is  better  to  remain 
on  the  top  of  the  bluff;  for  from  there  the  view 
is  extended,  and  you  can  see  the  river  gather 
for  its  plunge  and,  after  its  fall,  hurry  away 
down  the  winding  gorge. 

It  is  not  known  who  discovered  the  Shoshone 
Falls,  nor  when  they  were  first  visited.  No 
mention  is  made  of  them  by  the  emigrants,  who 
must  have  passed  near  the  canon  on  their  way 
to  Oregon,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  they  knew  of 
their  nearness  to  the  wonderful  place.  The  only 
man  to  lend  historical  interest  to  the  Falls  was 


SHOSHONE.  173 

Tom  Bell.  He  was  a  miner  who  worked  a 
claim  on  the  island  separating  the  Bridal  Veil 
Falls.  His  custom  was  to  cross  the  river  by 
boat.  One  day,  when  in  mid-stream,  his  oar 
broke.  It  is  needless  to  picture  the  result. 
Poor  Tom  went  over  the  brink,  of  course,  and 
Shoshonc  had  its  tragedy.  If  local  information 
may  be  relied  upon,  one  or  two  Chinamen  have 
since  shared  Bell's  fate.  It  is  said  that  the  sand 
bars  around  the  islands  above  the  Falls  are  rich 
with  gold,  washed  down  by  the  river.  If  this 
is  so,  we  may  expect  any  number  of  casualties ; 
for  miners  will  go  wherever  gold  exists,  and 
the  Shoshone  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  but 
gathers  in  whoever  dares  to  come  within  its 
reach. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND. 

HE  who  reads  the  story  of  early  days  in  the 
far  West,  and  especially  that  portion  relat 
ing  to  the  adventures  of  the  men  and  women 
who  made  the  hazardous  journey  across  coun 
try  to  Oregon  and  California,  will  find  frequent 
mention  of  a  certain  region  where  there  was  an 
abundance  of  green  grass  and  water.  It  was 
here  that  the  footsore  people  rested.  The  place 
was  to  them  a  blessed  sanatorium,  an  oasis  in 
the  desert  where  the  springs  poured  forth  Vichy 
and  Apollinaris  that  could  be  had  for  the 
taking. 

The  present  name  of  this  famous  camping 
ground  is  Soda  Springs.  Leaving  Shoshone  we 
returned  to  Pocatello,  and  from  there  went  east 
ward  to  the  little  settlement  that  has  sprung  up 
around  the  series  of  ice-cold,  medicinal  waters. 
The  springs  are  in  Bingham  County,  Idaho, 
sixty  miles  east  of  Pocatello,  and  are  on  the 
Oregon  Short  Line.  They  occupy  a  depression 


A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         1 77 

among  the  Wasatch  Mountains  and  have  an  ele 
vation  of  six  thousand  feet.  In  summer  the 
days  are  warm  and  the  nights  are  cool.  Near 
by  are  some  of  the  best  hunting  and  fishing 
grounds  in  the  West.  Blackfoot  Creek,  ten 
miles  distant,  is  famed  far  and  wide  for  its  trout. 
A  new  hotel  has  lately  been  built,  which  is  not 
only  very  comfortable,  but  from  which  the  pros 
pect  is  exceedingly  attractive.  The  hill-sides 
were  gorgeous  with  color  when  we  saw  them, 
and  on  some  of  the  higher  peaks  of  the  range 
were  patches  of  newly  fallen  snow.  The  plain 
surrounding  the  house  is  wide  and  level ;  and 
guarding  it  are  low-browed  foothills,  back  of 
which  rise  the  mountains. 

The  many  springs  at  this  isolated  little  re 
sort  contain  medicinal  properties  that  render 
them  as  efficacious  in  the  cure  of  disease  as  the 
more  celebrated  springs  of  Germany  or  Saratoga. 
The  waters  are  charged  with  bi-carbonate  of 
soda  and  potash,  chloride  of  sodium  and  potash, 
sulphates  and  carbonates  of  magnesia  and  lime, 
carbonate  of  iron,  free  carbonic  acid  gas,  and 
a  multitude  of  other  ingredients.  The  springs 
are  scattered  at  random  over  the  valley,  and 
the  waters  bubble  forth  from  the  earth  in  such 

12 


178  SHOSHONE. 

abundance  that  they  form  numerous  rivulets 
which  flow  across  country  until  lost  in  the  plains 
beyond. 

At  one  of  the  springs  a  bottling  company 
has  begun  active  work.  The  product  shipped 
away  is  better,  according  to  competent  judges, 
than  the  imported  Apollinaris.  In  its  natural 
state  the  water  is  as  sparkling  as  champagne  and 
has  a  delicious  flavor.  This  is  true  of  the  other 
springs ;  their  taste  is  never  disagreeable. 

From  the  time  when  Brigham  Young  visited 
Soda  Springs  and  blessed  its  healing  waters, 
to  the  present  day,  the  valley  has  been  the 
Mecca  of  Mormons.  They  visit  it  religiously 
and  are  unwilling  to  let  the  summer  season 
pass  without  camping  for  a  week  or  more  in  the 
near  proximity  to  that  which  they  are  sure  will 
give  them  renewed  vitality. 

The  ride  from  Soda  Springs  to  Pocatello  does 
much  to  interest  one  in  Southern  Idaho.  The 
country  is  well  watered,  and  is  a  succession  of 
fertile  valleys,  each  filled  with  cattle  and  comfort 
able  farm-houses,  that  are  suggestive,  in  a  meas 
ure,  of  those  in  the  East.  At  Pocatello,  however, 
the  freshness  is  lost,  and  there  are  vast  areas  of 
dryness. 


A   NEW    ROUTE  TO    WONDERLAND.         179 

It  is  very  well  known,  I  presume,  that  there  is 
a  Yellowstone  National  Park  somewhere  in  the 
West,  and  that  a  direct  route  to  it  is  over  the 
Northern  Pacific  road  from  St.  Paul  to  Cinnabar, 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  so-called  "  Wonderland." 
As  a  rule  all  visitors  select  this  route.  In  taking 
another,  the  features  of  which  afforded  us  infinite 
gratification,  we  were  influenced  in  part  by 
chance,  and  in  part  by  the  desire  to  escape  the 
more  beaten  tracks  of  travel.  Recalling  our 
experiences  I  would  suggest  that  our  followers 
take  advantage  of  our  knowledge  and  do  as  we 
did :  go  to  the  Yellowstone  via  the  Beaver 
Canon  route  of  the  Union  Pacific,  and  leave  it 
via  the  Northern  Pacific.  By  so  doing,  two  im 
portant  advantages  will  be  gained.  First,  you 
will  save  the  annoyance  of  "  doubling  on  your 
tracks,"  which  all  good  travellers  are  anxious 
to  avoid  doing ;  and  secondly,  you  will  find  fea 
tures  along  the  hundred-mile  ride  from  Beaver 
Canon  to  the  Park  which  do  not  exist  in  the 
Yellowstone.  If  fond  of  hunting  or  fishing,  if 
not  afraid  of  a  few  discomforts,  if  liking  the 
free  companionship  of  Nature,  take  the  Beaver 
Canon  route.  Its  present  simplicity  will  not 
last  forever.  The  old  log-cabins  where  you 


180  SHOSIIONE. 

rest  to-day  will  soon  be  gone,  replaced  by 
"  hotels,"  with  their  modern  luxuries  but  utter 
lack  of  that  quaint  flavor  which  the  present 
homely  houses  have ;  the  winding  trails  you 
follow  now,  and  which  lead  through  woods  of 
virgin  freshness,  and  by  the  side  of  quiet  rivers, 
will  be  the  road-bed  of  a  railroad.  The  West, 
as  seen  from  the  window  of  a  car,  is  not  the 
country  introduced  by  the  stage-coach.  With  all 
additional  comfort,  there  is  a  loss  of  something 
which  you  cannot  define,  perhaps,  but  which 
will  be  understood  by  those  who  have  driven 
at  a  ten-mile-an-hour  pace  through  almost  un 
broken  solitudes. 

There  is  a  regular  line  of  stages  from  Beaver 
Canon  to  the  Park.  From  the  railroad  to  Firehole 
Basin,  near  the  southern  end  of  the  Yellowstone, 
the  distance  is  a  little  less  than  one  hundred  miles. 
Leaving  Beaver  early  in  the  morning,  Snake 
River  Crossing  is  reached  at  evening.  Resting 
there  over  night,  the  journey  is  continued  the 
following  day,  a  noon  halt  being  made  at  Man- 
ley's  Cabin,  in  the  Madison  Valley,  and  the  drive 
ended  at  Firehole  in  the  evening.  Portions  of 
the  road  are  rough,  and  the  accommodations  are 
primitive.  But  he  who  does  not  object  to  im- 


A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         l8l 

material  annoyances  need  have  no  fear.  If 
tired,  you  have  but  to  rest  at  either  Snake  River 
Crossing  or  Manley's  or  at  Henry's  Lake ;  and 
those  who  prefer  may  engage  their  own  teams 
of  the  Stage  Company,  and  make  camp  along 
the  road  wherever  the  beauties  of  Nature  tempt 
them  to  linger. 

Beaver  Canon  station  is  a  night's  ride  north 
of  Pocatello,  on  the  Utah  &  Northern  Road. 
Parallel  ranges  of  hills  guard  the  little  town  on 
the  east  and  west,  and  past  it  flows  a  creek  that 
winds  down  a  valley  which  the  stage  line  follows 
a  few  miles  before  turning  directly  east  toward 
the  Park.  Our  stage-and-four  was  ready  on  our 
arrival,  and  long  before  the  sun  was  fairly  above 
the  hills  we  had  taken  our  seats  and  were  clatter 
ing  down  the  canon.  The  day  was  perfect,  —  a 
cloudless  sky  above,  the  air  fresh,  the  dust  set 
tled  by  a  rain  of  the  night  before.  In  a  team 
that  followed  us  were  our  boxes  and  trunks ; 
and  snugly  stowed  away  among  them  sat  the 
artist,  with  camera  ready  for  work,  and  con 
tentment  shining  from  above  blond  beard  and 
beneath  the  artistic  broad-brimmed  hat. 

Once  out  of  the  canon  the  prospect  broad 
ened.  Away  to  the  southeast  rose  the  moun- 


1 82  SHOSHONE. 

tains  of  the  Wind  River  country,  in  Wyoming, 
and  due  east  were  the  peaks  surrounding  the 
Yellowstone.  Nearer  at  hand  bush-grown  slopes 
and  tree-covered  ridges  rose  abruptly  from  out 
the  levels  and  extended  far  north  to  the  moun 
tain  ranges  of  Montana.  Cattle  were  feeding 
on  the  sun-dried  tufts  of  grass  scattered  over 
the  plains,  and  there  was  a  happy  mingling  of 
harmonious  colors. 

You  cannot  photograph  the  far-reaching  vistas 
of  the  West;  they  must  be  seen  to  be  appre 
ciated.  Their  lights  and  shadows  are  ever 
changing.  To-day  the  more  distant  peaks  are 
the  faintest  possible  blue,  and  you  can  scarce 
distinguish  their  outlines.  Again,  the  same 
mountains  stand  boldly  forth,  their  rough  sides 
clearly  revealed  and  their  colors  most  pro 
nounced.  The  peculiar  character  of  the  atmos 
phere  is  the  cause,  in  a  great  measure,  of  this 
ever  changing  appearance  of  natural  objects. 
The  neutral  gray  of  the  east  rarely  exists ;  in 
stead  there  is  a  pale  blue  tint,  deeper  at  one 
time  than  at  another,  but  forever  forming  a  vast 
sea  of  visible  air  through  which  the  white  moun 
tain  peaks  and  the  dark  green  forests  reveal 
their  individual  hues.  You  will  notice  this  fact 


A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         183 

wherever  you  may  be  among  the  Rockies.  Dis 
tant  hills  are  seemingly  brought  within  your  very 
reach ;  and  the  shadows  in  the  canons  are  black 
as  night.  As  we  drove  slowly  along  over  the 
brown  levels  stretching  far  southward,  our  minds 
were  affected  by  the  benign  influences  which  the 
region  exerted.  The  delicious  air,  neither  hot 
nor  cold,  the  extended  views,  the  brilliant  color 
ings,  the  sense  of  freedom  from  all  prosaic  con 
ventionality,  were  conditions  by  virtue  of  which 
life  was  given  a  new  meaning.  Its  dull  realities 
were  felt  no  more.  If  tired  of  one  view  we  had 
but  to  look  in  another  direction  to  find  a  differ 
ent  one.  The  low  hillsides  at  our  left  were  cov 
ered  with  scattered  groups  of  pines  and  asps, 
brilliant  with  color,  and  in  the  depressions  of 
the  mountains  were  dreamy  gorges  opening 
upon  broad  grassy  meadows. 

Twenty-five  miles  from  Beaver  are  the  Camas 
Meadows,  long  wide  levels  enclosed  by  hills  and 
mountains  and  covered  with  grasses  as  brown  as 
those  of  the  plains.  Here  we  had  our  luncheon, 
eating  it  in  the  open  air,  the  fields  surrounding 
and  the  mountains  guarding  us.  Near  us  ran  a 
little  stream,  clear  as  crystal,  and  on  its  left  bank 
stood  the  log-cabin  of  a  pioneer,  —  a  rude  shel- 


1 84  SHOSHONE. 

tcr,  but  one  not  without  its  interest  and  phase 
of  life  away  out  here  in  the  wilderness.  In  a 
corral  near  the  house  were  a  score  of  fresh 
horses,  four  of  which  our  driver  selected  for 
the  afternoon  journey. 

Our  camera  was  an  object  of  peculiar  interest 
to  the  lonely  woman  who  lived  in  the  cabin.  It 
was  rarely  that  she  saw  so  good  a  chance  to  have 
her  children  photographed,  she  told  the  artist, 
and  she  wanted  his  terms  at  once.  Not  being 
able  to  give  her  immediate  results,  the  trade  fell 
through.  The  family  consisted  of  the  father, 
mother,  and  two  children,  the  latter  being  the 
picture  of  health.  The  parents  had  moved  to 
Camas  from  Missouri,  and  were  not  enthusiastic 
over  their  new  quarters.  The  winters  were  terri 
bly  cold,  they  said,  and  there  was  little  time  in 
the  year  for  farming.  They  "  guessed "  they 
should  move  in  the  fall.  Just  before  we  left,  the 
small  boy  brought  his  gun  for  us  to  see.  There 
was  fine  hunting,  he  said.  The  meadows  were 
full  of  sage-hens  and  rabbits,  and  he  always 
could  catch  as  many  trout  as  he  liked.  Both 
the  children  were  talkative,  but  the  older  mem 
bers  of  the  family  were  heavy  and  taciturn. 

Getting  well  away  from  Camas  we  found  the 


A  NEW    ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         185 

country  less  level  than  before,  and  our  road  ran 
nearer  the  mountains.  In  the  southeast  were 
the  "  Three  Tetons,"  now  standing  out  in  majes 
tic  prominence,  their  sharp  peaks  white  with 
snow,  and  the  sides  of  deepest  blue.  Directly 
eastward,  in  the  direction  of  the  Park,  chain 
after  chain  of  hills  appeared  in  sight,  some  soft 
with  haze,  but  others  as  clearly  outlined  as 
though  they  were  ten,  instead  of  a  hundred  or 
more,  miles  away. 

It  was  now  that  we  began  to  meet  the  several 
tributaries  of  the  Snake  River.  They  were  mere 
brooks,  as  a  rule,  wide  but  shallow,  and  coursed 
through  grass-grown  fields.  The  names  given 
to  the  streams  and  their  different  valleys  were 
suggested  by  the  few  events  that  have  happened 
in  the  neighborhood.  Bottle  Creek,  for  instance, 
is  so  called  from  the  fact  that  Generals  Sherman 
and  Sheridan  happened  to  meet  and  make  camp 
on  its  banks.  On  the  departure  of  these  two 
famous  men,  the  number  of  bottles  left  behind 
gave  the  creek  its  name.  This  story  of  our 
driver  may  not  be  true,  but  locally  it  is  thought 
to  be.  Antelope  Creek  and  Shot  Gun  are  names 
of  equally  uncertain  origin.  Near  the  latter  lives 
a  trapper  whose  log-cabin  is  decorated  on  roof 


1 86 


SHOSHONE. 


and  sides  with  sun-bleached  trophies  of  the  hunt. 
Huge  antlers  are  suspended  over  the  narrow 
doorway,  and  skins  of  animals  are  tacked  to 
every  sunny  place. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  before  we  caught  sight  of 
the  Snake,  and  the  day  had  ended  before  we 
reached  and  forded  it.  Just  across  the  stream 


SNAKE    RIVER   CROSSING. 

stood  the  row  of  cabins  which  some  adventurous 
landlord  has  built  for  the  accommodation  of 
passing  travellers.  The  forests  come  close  down 
to  the  rear  of  the  houses,  and  a  few  tall  pines 
stand  guard  in  front.  The  Snake  at  this  cross- 


A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         l8/ 

ing  is  less  than  twenty  rods  wide,  but  flows 
with  considerable  swiftness  and  is  of  crystal 
clearness.  A  foot-bridge  of  logs  connects  the 
two  banks,  and  there  is  a  flat-bottomed  boat 
which  one  may  charter  if  desirous  of  making 
a  trip  to  the  quiet  coves  where  trout  are  to  be 
found. 

It  was  like  meeting  an  old  friend  to  see  the 
river  again.  Throwing  a  chip  into  the  current, 
I  wondered  how  soon  it  would  reach  Shoshone. 
Not  long,  indeed,  if  it  went  so  swiftly  all  the  way 
as  at  first.  Possibly  it  would  escape  the  drift 
wood  below  the  Falls,  and  would  sail  on  and  on 
until  it  reached  the  Columbia  and  the  Pacific. 
There  is  a  sort  of  fascination  in  watching  rivers 
like  the  Snake.  They  are  full  of  courage,  poor 
innocents  !  and  are  ever  hurrying  on  to  what  they 
cannot  foresee  is  their  destiny.  I  am  sure  this 
by  which  we  rested  would  never  have  been  in 
so  great  haste  had  it  known  of  its  long,  dark 
canon  far  beyond,  and  of  its  wonderful  leap  into 
a  misty  gulf. 

After  supper  we  adjourned  to  the  dimly 
lighted  kitchen  to  talk  with  the  trappers,  who 
had  just  come  in  with  their  load  of  game.  The 
spokesman  was  a  most  voluble  individual,  and 


1 88  SHOSHONE. 

so  fired  our  enthusiasm  that  we  were  more  than 
half  inclined  to  abandon  our  teams  and  take  to 
the  woods.  If  there  was  game  in  the  world,  he 
said,  it  was  here  in  the  forests  that  surrounded 
us.  Bear?  Yes.  Elk?  In  abundance.  Deer 
and  antelope?  Yes.  He  had  seen  a  dozen  elk 
in  a  week,  and  had  that  day  killed  a  few.  He 
could  not  begin  to  tell  us  of  the  sport  there  was. 
He  had  been  a  hunter  in  the  region  for  years, 
and  knew  every, nook  and  corner  in  the  place. 
Far  away  to  the  south  the  country  is  covered 
with  dense  forests  and  a  succession  of  moun 
tain  ridges.  North  of  the  Snake  the  valley  is 
without  timber.  The  hills  are  low  and  covered 
with  sage  brush  and  scattered  tufts  of  tall  grass. 
Here  is  the  paradise  of  bird  shooting,  the  creeks 
and  sage  being  the  resort  of  countless  wild  duck 
and  prairie  hens.  Among  the  mountains  that 
border  the  northern  side  of  the  valley  is  found 
the  larger  game.  Numerous  hunting  parties 
make  the  cabins  at  First  Crossing  their  camp, 
and  from  it  take  long  tramps  into  the  wilderness 
of  backwoods.  The  trappers  we  talked  with 
support  themselves  by  their  rifles,  and  have 
hardly  known  any  other  life  than  the  one  they 
now  lead.  During  the  Indian  wars  they  acted 


A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         189 

as  scouts   for  a  season,  but  when   the   troubles 
ended  went  back  to  the  woods. 

The  twenty-five  mile  drive  from  the  crossing 
of  the  Snake  to  Manley's  Cabin  was  so  attract- 


FORDING   THE    SNAKE. 

ivc  that  we  gave  a  day  to  it.  For  the  first  few 
miles  the  road  led  through  the  woods.  On  our 
one  side  were  had  occasional  glimpses  of  the 
river,  but  to  the  right  were  thickly  growing 
trees.  Later  we  crossed  the  stream,  stopping 
midway  to  enjoy  its  great  beauty.  Each  bank 
was  heavily  fringed  with  trees,  drooping  over 


IQO  SHOSHONE. 

the  water  and  mirrored  in  the  placid  surface. 
In  a  little  cove  near  by  stood  a  solitary  heron 
industriously  fishing  for  his  breakfast,  and  be 
yond  were  some  ducks  paddling  contentedly 
about  and  unmindful  of  our  presence.  Not  a 
sound,  save  the  quiet  murmur  of  the  trees  and 
river,  disturbed  the  silence,  and  the  air  was 
heavy  with  the  perfumes  of  the  forest.  The 
view  was  our  last  of  the  Snake.  On  gaining 
the  opposite  bank  our  route  would  be  north 
ward,  while  that  of  the  river  was  due  east.  It 
was  well,  I  thought,  to  see  the  stream  as  it 
now  appeared.  Placid  itself,  its  surroundings 
were  all  in  harmony  ;  and  the  river  at  last  was 
beautiful,  with  no  suggestion  of  having  an  evil 
spirit  or  of  being  boisterous  and  in  haste. 

A  few  miles  beyond  we  left  the  forests  and 
entered  a  great  circular  basin,  level  and  grassy, 
and  enclosed  by  tree-covered  hills.  Directly 
across  this  ran  our  road,  its  course  easily  marked 
and  the  point  where  it  climbed  the  hills  clearly 
seen.  The  basin  is  known  as  Henry's  Lake 
Bottom.  It  is  ten  miles  wide  by  as  many  long, 
and  at  its  upper  end  is  Henry's  Lake,  —  a 
bright-blue  body  of  water  filled  with  fish  and 
fed  by  mountain  streams.  A  cabin  that  stands 


A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND. 


on  the  shores  is  a  favorite  camp  for  hunters,  and 
is  rarely  without  its  visitors.  In  the  meadows 
through  which  we  drove  were  scores  of  wild 
herons.  Listening,  we  could  hear  their  melan 
choly  cries,  and  seeing  us  they  took  wing  and 
leisurely  flew  away. 

Midway  across  the  valley  we  had  a  taste  of 
winter.     Before  aware  that  the  sky  was  overcast, 
a  violent  storm  swept  down 
upon  us.    The  rain  fell  in  tor 
rents,  and   hailstones  pelted 


TYGHEE   PASS. 


our  wagon-top.     In  half  an  hour  the  ground  was 
whitened,  and  a  biting  wind  was  blowing.    Then, 


192  SHOSIIONE. 

as  suddenly  as  it  came,  the  storm  subsided,  and 
the  sun  came  out;  and,  as  we  slowly  toiled  up 
the  steep  slopes  of  Tyghee  Pass,  by  which  the 
road  leads  out  of  the  basin,  we  could  see  the 
surrounding  mountains  robed  in  their  dress  of 
winter.  To  the  east,  from  the  top  of  the  Pass, 
we  looked  into  Madison  Valley;  and  westward 
could  trace  our  long  course  and  look  down  upon 
the  lake  and  its  remarkable  surroundings.  The 
asps  and  maples  on  the  mountain-sides  were  all 
gold  and  crimson,  the  grasses  were  brown,  and 
the  lake  a  transparent  blue.  The  air  was  like 
a  tonic,  and  our  blood  flowed  free  and  fast. 
Surrounding  us  was  a  glorious  wilderness,  all 
undisturbed  by  man,  and  so  beautiful  in  concep 
tion  and  creation  that  one  felt  it  a  sacrilege  to 
speak.  Forest  and  intervale,  dark  pines  and 
trees  alive  with  color,  snowy  peak  and  wood- 
crowned  hill,  were  all  crowded  into  view. 

A  few  years  ago  the  most  direct  way  to  reach* 
the  Yellowstone  Park  from  the  West  was  by 
stage  from  Virginia  City,  Montana,  to  Henry's 
Lake,  and  thence  by  the  road  which  is  now  fol 
lowed.  The  line  was  established  during  the 
Star  Route  period,  and  was  heavily  subsidized. 
When  the  frauds  were  discovered,  the  stages 


A   NEW    ROUTE   TO   WONDERLAND.         193 

were  taken  off.  The  present  route  passes  within 
a  mile  of  the  south  shore  of  the  lake,  and  not 
far  from  the  log-cabin  which  has  long  been  the 
favorite  camp  of  sportsmen.  The  house  is  open 
for  visitors  at  all  times.  It  overlooks  the  wide 
basin  lying  to  the  south,  and  commands  an  ex 
tended  view  of  the  graceful  hills  and  Sawtell's 
Peak,  a  high,  flat-topped  mountain  rising  to  the 
west  of  the  valley.  The  lake  is  fed  by  several 
streams  flowing  into  it  from  the  mountain  gorges, 
and  is  filled  with  fish.  In  all  the  West  there  is 
not  a  prettier  body  of  water,  and  I  know  of  no 
valley  with  greater  attractions  for  all  lovers  of 
Nature.  It  resembles  the  isolated  bits  one  now 
and  then  finds  tucked  away  among  the  Allegha- 
nies.  All  its  streams  are  of  fresh,  clear  water, 
and  the  slopes  are  carpeted  with  grasses  that 
grow  in  the  shade  of  pines,  ash,  and  maple. 

From  the  top  of  Tyghce  Pass  we  drove  at 
once  into  the  forests  which  completely  cover 
the  long  slopes  of  the  western  side  of  Madison 
Valley.  For  an  hour  or  more  the  monotony 
was  unrelieved.  The  trees  surrounding  us  hid 
all  outlines  of  the  valley.  At  last,  however, 
there  were  more  extended  outlooks,  and  from 
the  grass-grown  areas  which  had  lost  their  pines, 
'3 


194  SHOSHONE. 

or  which  had  never  had  them,  we  could  trace 
the  outlines  of  the  far-away  range  which  forms 
the  eastern  limits  of  the  Madison  Valley.  It 
was  forest-covered  to  its  very  top,  and  in  the 
north  joined  the  higher  peaks  of  the  great  Gal- 
latin  Mountains,  which  fill  Eastern  Montana  and 
extend  to  the  head-waters  of  the  Missouri.  Be 
tween  us  and  the  range  lay  the  great  level,  filled 
with  forests,  through  which  the  river  takes  its 
course.  The  Madison  is  one  of  the  great  tribu 
taries  of  the  Missouri,  and  was  named  by  Lewis 
and  Clarke.  It  has  its  source  at  the  southern 
end  of  the  Yellowstone  Park,  where  it  is  known 
as  the  Firehole  River,  or  South  Fork  of  the 
Madison,  and  just  before  entering  the  canon  by 
which  it  reaches  the  valley,  receives  the  waters 
of  the  Gibbon  River,  one  of  the  important 
streams  of  the  Park.  From  the  valley  it  flows 
northwesterly  to  a  point  north  of  the  Gallatin 
Range  where,  with  the  Gallatin  and  the  Jeffer 
son,  it  forms  the  Missouri.  Few  rivers  of  the 
Northwest  are  longer  than  it  or  so  tortuous,  and 
none  have  birth  in  so  strange  a  place;  for 
where  the  Madison  rises  the  ground  is  covered 
with  geyser  cones,  and  its  waters  are  hot  with 
the  overflow  from  boiling  springs. 


A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         195 

Toward  sunset  we  reached  Manley's  Cabin. 
It  stands  on  the  left  bank  of  the  river  and  is 
built  of  rough-hewn  logs,  the  spaces  between 
which  are  plastered.  On  one  side  the  house  is 
flanked  by  an  open  corral,  where  Manley  keeps 
his  cattle.  On  the  other  extend  the  open  fields 
across  which  we  had  driven,  and  all  around 
which  grow  the  forests.  Tired  with  our  long 
drive,  the  simple  house  seemed  a  palace  of 
comforts.  In  the  evening  we  sat  around  the  fire, 
and  Manley  told  us  of  his  life.  It  was  very  un 
eventful,  he  said,  and  in  winter  was  most  dreary. 
The  storms  were  frequent  and  severe,  and  he 
was  absolutely  cut  off  from  the  outside  world. 
In  summer  the  visitors  were  numerous.  Many 
made  the  cabin  their  head-quarters  while  on 
hunting  trips  about  the  country,  and  others 
stopped,  as  we  had,  for  a  night.  For  a  living, 
Manley  supplies  the  Park  hotels  with  meat,  eggs, 
and  milk.  In  the  future  he  hopes  a  railroad  will 
reach  his  land  and  render  it  worth  a  tidy  for 
tune.  At  present,  he  told  us,  life  was  a  struggle, 
and  the  income  was  discouragingly  small. 

Our  last  day's  drive  was  begun  early  and 
ended  late  in  the  afternoon.  The  air  was  crisp 
and  cool  on  leaving  Manley's,  and  patches  of 


196 


SHOSHONE. 


frost-work  lay  upon  the  grasses.  It  was  well 
into  September  now,  and  winter  comes  early  in 
this  mountain  country.  From  the  cabin  we 
drove  across  the  Madison,  and  were  soon  among 
the  forests.  It  is  not  over  ten  miles  from  one 


MANLEY'S  CABIN. 

side  of  the  valley  to  the  other;  but  the  road 
follows  the  course  of  an  old  trail,  that  was  made 
for  the  especial  benefit  of  those  who  wished  to 
keep  near  the  river,  and  greatly  increases  the 
distance.  We  rarely  lost  sight  of  the  Madison, 


A  NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         197 

and  at  times  drove  along  its  banks.  It  is  a 
pretty  stream,  this  far-away  tributary  of  the 
great  Missouri.  Its  valley  is  heavily  wooded 
and  has  a  series  of  parks,  or  intervales,  which 
are  as  level  as  a  floor  and  thickly  carpeted  with 
grasses.  Some  of  these  openings  have  been 
caused  by  fire,  which  has  swept  away  the  trees, 
and  others  are  purely  natural,  free,  even,  from 
underbrush,  and  as  neat  and  trim  as  though 
given  daily  care.  Why  they  should  have  been 
left  in  the  very  depths  of  the  forests,  is  a  mys 
tery.  That  they  have  been  is  a  blessing,  for 
they  greatly  relieve  the  monotony  of  a  forest 
drive.  We  were  constantly  driving  into  and 
across  them,  and  in  one  we  stopped  for  lunch 
eon  and  to  give  the  tired  horses  a  rest  and  bite 
of  the  grass.  The  pines  in  the  Madison  Valley 
are  small  in  circumference,  but  are  of  great 
height.  The  country  round  about  is  overrun 
with  game.  Once,  on  gaining  the  top  of  a  low 
ridge,  we  came  upon  a  band  of  half-a-dozen 
antelope.  The  wind  being  from  them  to  us, 
they  were  taken  completely  by  surprise.  But 
on  seeing  us  they  were  off  on  the  instant,  — 
rapidly  moving  flashes  of  dull-red  and  white. 
Half-way  across  the  valley  is  the  western  line 


198  SHOSHONE. 

of  the  National  Park.  Reaching  it  we  came 
upon  the  military  camp  established  there.  The 
commanding  officer  and  his  men  were  away, 
but  the  cook  gave  us  welcome.  The  post  is  not 
at  all  formidable  to  look  at,  and  life  there  must 
prove  rather  a  dull  existence.  The  duty  mainly 
consists  in  protecting  the  game  within  the  Park 
limits  from  molestation.  You  can  hunt  and 
fish  up  to  the  very  borders  of  the  Yellowstone ; 
but  woe  betide  you  if,  in  your  enthusiasm,  you 
chase  a  deer  across  the  line,  or  allow  your  trout 
to  entice  you  over  the  border !  If  caught  tres 
passing,  you  will  be  arrested,  your  hard-earned 
game  confiscated,  your  rifle  taken  away,  and 
you  yourself  escorted  to  head-quarters  at  the 
Mammoth  Hot  Springs.  There  you  may  tell  your 
story.  If  believed,  your  sentence  will  be  light: 
a  fine,  perhaps,  or  a  reprimand.  If  not  be 
lieved,  you  will  be  forwarded  to  higher  officials 
and  dealt  with  as  they  please. 

Dividing  the  western  outskirts  of  the  Park 
from  Firehole,  or  Lower  Geyser  Basin,  is  a  high, 
narrow  ridge  of  land  over  which  the  wagon 
road  climbs  by  an  ascent  so  steep  that,  in  pity 
for  the  horses,  we  sent  the  teams  ahead  and 
followed  them  afoot.  At  first  the  view  was 


A   NEW   ROUTE  TO    WONDERLAND.         1 99 

obstructed  by  the  forests ;  but  later  they  were 
left  far  below  us,  and  at  the  top  of  the  divide 
the  valley  could  be  seen  from  end  to  end. 
Down  its  centre  ran  the  Madison,  winding  in 
and  out  among  the  trees ;  far  away  in  the  dis 
tance  was  the  clearing  that  surrounds  Manley's 
Cabin.  The  view  was  panoramic,  embracing 
a  vast  area  of  levels  and  hills,  high  peaks  and 
dark-green  forests.  In  all  the  broad  expanse 
not  a  house  could  be  seen.  There  was  not  a 
trace,  not  even  a  suggestion,  of  civilization. 
In  spots  the  forests  were  dead  and  the  trees 
white  and  ghost-like;  but  as  a  rule  there  was 
a  continuous  mass  of  green,  lighted  by  the 
river  and  overlooked  by  mountain-peaks  freshly 
sprinkled  with  newly  fallen  snow. 

To  the  north  of  this  last  climb  is  the  famous 
canon  of  the  Madison.  Through  it  the  river 
flows  on  its  way  from  Firehole  to  the  valley. 
In  time  it  is  proposed  to  extend  the  stage  road 
through  this  winding,  romantic  pass,  and  thus 
save  the  hard  pull  over  the  divide.  If  ever  the 
Union  Pacific  is  built  to  the  borders  of  the 
Park,  its  terminus  will  be  in  the  Madison  Valley, 
and  the  only  stage-ride  will  be  that  through  the 
canon.  Surveys  to  this  end  have  already  been 


200  SHOSHONE. 

made,  and  Government  has  been  asked  to  aid 
in  making  the  road-bed  that  will  follow  the 
river  to  Firehole. 

With  a  last  long  look  at  the  country  westward, 
we  turned  to  the  east  and  drove  rapidly  down 
grade  toward  the  Park  whose  strange  features 
give  it  the  name  of  "  Wonderland."  The  Madi 
son  and  its  valley  were  soon  .lost  to  sight. 
We  had  reached  the  end  of  the  Beaver  Canon 
road.  Once  more  the  forests  surrounded  us,  and 
the  old  jolting  stage  creaked  and  groaned  be 
neath  the  pressure  of  the  brakes.  Our  driver, 
noticing  our  silence,  said  he  "  guessed  we  kind 
o'  felt  sorry  to  have  th'  drive  end." 

He  was  an  admirable  man,  in  his  way,  this 
driver  of  ours.  He  had  his  peculiarities,  as  we 
all  have;  but  his  temper  was  so  serene  that  I 
envied  him.  If  a  leader  became  balky,  he  was 
never  worried ;  if  the  climb  was  hard,  he  never 
thought  of  easing  the  load  by  walking.  To 
all  appearances  he  was  a  part  of  the  seat  he 
occupied.  He  talked  little,  and  did  not  know 
one  mountain  from  another.  But  he  could  tell 
in  a  moment  when  we,  seated  behind  him,  were 
having  luncheon,  and  was  always  ready  to  join 
us.  For  a  day  I  thought  him  rough  and  un- 


A   NEW   ROUTE  TO   WONDERLAND.         2OI 

couth  and,  possibly,  worse  than  this.  But  at 
Snake  River  Crossing  I  found  him  seated  in  a 
corner  holding  a  bright-haired  little  girl  on  his 
lap.  "It's  mine,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  my 
look  of  inquiry.  Later  he  told  me  of  his  young 
wife,  a  cook  at  one  of  the  hotels,  and  of  his 
baby  girl.  4i  T  ain  't  no  easy  work  in  this  coun 
try  feedin'  'em,"  he  said,  "  an'  they  can't  dress 
much.  But  they're  a  heap  o'  comfort,  an'  th' 
little  one  just  dotes  on  taking  a  ride  with  me." 
After  this,  whenever  I  saw  the  man  giving  the 
horses  their  own  way,  I  was  sure  his  thoughts 
were  wandering  away  to  the  coming  winter, 
when,  as  he  told  me,  he  was  "  goin'  to  settle 
down  an'  have  th'  fam'ly  with  him." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AMONG  THE  GEYSERS  OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE. 

A  CHAPTER  on  the  Yellowstone  must  be 
about  as  satisfactory  as  a  magazine  article 
on  America.  In  neither  can  you  do  full  justice 
to  the  subject.  I  can  suggest  the  features  of  the 
Park,  but  must  leave  to  the  guide-books  all 
statistical  description.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
Yellowstone  is  so  filled  with  natural  curiosities, 
so  overburdened  with  strange  creations  that 
have  no  counterpart  anywhere  in  the  world,  that 
I  doubt  if  any  one  who  does  not  himself  visit 
the  place  can  form  the  least  conception  of  its 
appearance.  In  certain  portions  it  is  a  strange, 
weird  storehouse  of  natural  wonders ;  in  others 
it  is  so  beautiful  that  an  artist  cannot  repro 
duce  the  gorgeous  colorings.  The  geysers,  the 
volcanic  and  calcareous  formations,  the  Grand 
Canon,  the  Falls  of  the  Yellowstone,  the  Hot 
Springs,  are  all  unique.  The  inspiration  of  stu- 


FALLS   OF   THE  YELLOWSTONE. 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         2O5 

dents,  they  are  likewise  the  source  of  unbounded 
delight  to  every  beholder.  They  captivate  the 
ignorant  as  well  as  the  learned,  and  to  the 
majority  of  beholders  are  wonderfully  incom 
prehensible  and  full  of  fascinating  interest. 

On  recommendation  of  Dr.  E.  V.  Hayden,  the 
eminent  geologist  and  explorer,  the  Yellowstone 
National  Park  was  wisely  set  apart  by  Congress, 
in  1872,  for  the  "  benefit  and  enjoyment  of  the 
people."  The  reservation,  as  the  Park  may 
more  properly  be  termed,  lies  mainly  in  the 
northwestern  corner  of  Wyoming,  and  extends 
slightly  into  Idaho  and  Montana.  It  is  fifty- 
five  miles  long  by  sixty-five  wide,  and  includes, 
therefore,  3,575  square  miles,  or  2,288,000  acres. 
The  surface  features  present  a  great  diversity  of 
character,  the  lowlands  bearing  a  general  resem 
blance  to  the  parks  of  Colorado,  and  the  ranges 
enclosing  the  vast  region  having  the  indescri 
bable  grandeur  so  characteristic  of  the  Rocky 
Mountain  system.  The  peaks  rising  high  above 
these  encircling  walls  dominate  the  entire  land 
scape.  From  them  the  valleys  of  the  Yellow 
stone  and  of  the  Gardiner  may  be  traced  for 
miles  through  the  broken  country  which  they 
traverse,  and  the  Park,  with  its  undulating  table- 


206  SHOSHONE. 

lands,  dark  forests,  and  countless  thermal  springs, 
is  visible  from  end  to  end. 

It  is  a  mistaken  idea  that  the  Yellowstone 
abounds  in  grand  scenery.  All  its  central  area 
consists  of  forest-grown  table-lands  that  are  ex 
ceedingly  monotonous,  and  from  which  the  views 
are  restricted.  The  only  large  mountain  masses 
within  the  limits  of  the  Park  Plateau,  as  this 
area  is  called,  are  the  Red  Mountain  and  Wash- 
burne  Ranges.  Both  have  steep,  but  rounded 
outlines,  with  rudely  conical  summits  which  rise 
from  three  thousand  to  four  thousand  feet  above 
the  Plateau.  The  ranges  are  heavily  wooded, 
and  their  lower  slopes  are  covered  with  nutri 
tious  grasses  which  serve  as  food  for  the  wild 
game  that  now  abounds  within  the  limits  of  the 
reservation.  The  average  elevation  of  the  Plateau 
is  7,500  to  8,500  feet,  and  its  geological  forma 
tions  are  entirely  volcanic,  composed  for  the 
most  part  of  light-colored  rhyolites.  Volcanic 
conglomerates  reach  in  places  a  depth  of  two 
•to  four  thousand  feet,  and  two  of  the  ranges, 
the  Yellowstone  and  the  Washburne,  are  almost 
entirely  composed  of  them.  The  older  sedi 
mentary  groups,  from  the  Cretaceous  to  the 
Silurian,  occupy  but  limited  areas  now,  but 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.         2O/ 

once  extended  over  the  entire  district.  A  num 
ber  of  specimens  of  fossil  plants,  obtained  in  the 
Park  in  1872,  indicate  the  existence  of  the  Lara- 
mie,  or  Fort  Union  group.  In  a  map  published 
in  one  of  Dr.  Hayden's  reports  on  the  Yellow 
stone,  the  ancient  outlines  of  the  Great  Lake, 
now  occupying  the  southern  end  of  the  Park, 
are  shown  to  have  extended  over  a  major  por 
tion  of  the  country,  thus  proving  that  the  water 
area  near  the  sources  of  the  largest  rivers  in  the 
most  elevated  section  of  the  West  has  dimin 
ished  more  than  one  half.  The  country  has  so 
changed  since  the  period  of  its  lake  occupancy, 
that  were  it  not  for  the  erosion  of  the  Yellow 
stone  Valley  no  parts  of  the  sedimentary  strata, 
except  those  forming  the  higher  summits  of  the 
East  Gallatin  Mountains,  would  appear.  The 
geologic  history  is  most  interesting.  The  story 
of  the  glacial  period  and  of  the  great  displace 
ments,  synchronous  with  the  general  Rocky 
Mountain  uplift,  will  explain  the  greatly  di 
versified  appearance  of  our  Wonderland  more 
clearly  than  can  one  who  now  sees  the  results 
that  were  accomplished.  Glaciers  existed  on 
an  extensive  scale,  and  in  exploring  the  deep 
valleys  of  the  higher  ranges  geologists  are  con- 


208  SHOSHONE. 

stantly  finding  the  rounded  rocks  which  the  great 
rivers  of  ice  have  left  to  mark  their  course. 
In  the  Wind  River  and  Teton  Mountains  gla 
ciers  still  exist,  and  at  times  descend  to  an  ele 
vation  of  less  than  five  thousand  feet.  That  they 
once  covered  the  entire  Park  Plateau  area  is 
asserted  with  assurance  by  many  students  of 
glacial  effect. 

The  lowest  elevation  in  the  Park  is  5,360  feet, 
at  the  mouth  of  Gardiner's  River ;  the  highest 
is  11,155  feet,  Electric  Peak,  in  the  Gallatin 
Rancre.  The  continental  water-shed  crosses  the 

o 

Park  in  the  southwestern  part,  and  is  flat  and  ill- 
defined.  It  enters  west  of  the  Lower  Geyser 
Basin,  and  leaves  at  a  point  south  of  the  south 
arm  of  the  Yellowstone  Lake.  On  its  one  side 
are  the  sources  of  the  streams  that  join  the 
Snake  River;  on  its  north  are  those  that  are 
tributaries  of  the  Missouri.  Few  visit  the  south 
ern  slopes  of  the  divide,  but  confine  their  atten 
tion  to  that  portion  of  the  Park  bordering  the 
Yellowstone,  the  Madison,  the  Gardiner,  and  the 
streams  of  smaller  size  that  flow  through  .the  for 
ests  and  down  the  many  canons  until  reaching 
the  great  Missouri.  The  Yellowstone  alone  has 
a  drainage  area  of  nineteen  hundred  square 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         2CX) 

miles,  and  possesses  the  most  beautiful  and 
picturesque  features  of  any  river  in  the  Park. 
It  flows  at  the  base  of  the  great  Yellowstone 
Range,  forming  the  eastern  barrier  of  the  Park, 
and  is  bordered  on  the  west  by  the  mountains 
of  the  Washburne  group.  Its  course  is  nearly 
northwest  until  reaching  the  huge  shoulders  of 
the  Gallatin  Range,  filling  the  northern  end  of 
the  reservation  and  extending  over  into  Mon 
tana,  when  it  turns  due  north  down  a  wide  valley 
enclosed  by  white-capped  peaks  that  are  land 
marks  for  miles  around. 

The  season  during  which  the  Yellowstone  Park 
may  be  visited  extends  from  the  last  of  June  to 
the  middle  of  September.  At  other  times  the 
hotels  are  closed  and  the  roads  obstructed  by 
deep  snow.  In  winter  the  region  is  Arctic  in 
temperature  and  in  appearance.  Mountains  and 
hills,  valleys  and  minor  streams  are  buried,  and 
the  cold  is  intense.  The  rising  vapors  of  the 
boiling  springs  cover  the  trees  with  fantastic 
decoration,  and  terrible  avalanches  tear  their 
way  through  the  forests.  The  place  is  deserted 
by  all  save  the  keepers  at  the  hotels  and  the 
wild  animals  who  make  the  Park  their  home. 
Mr.  Haynes,  the  official  photographer  of  the 
14 


210  SHOSHONE. 

Yellowstone,  was  successful  in  reaching  the 
Lower  Geyser  Basin  a  few  winters  ago ;  but, 
with  that  one  exception,  I  know  of  no  explorer 
who  has  dared  brave  the  Arctic  weather  of  the 
snow-bound  place. 

The  first  authentic  information  regarding  the 
National  Park  is  derived  from  the  report  of 
Captain  W.  W.  De  Lacy,  who  conducted  a  party 
to  the  Lower  Basin  in  1863.  The  region  was 
then  comparatively  unknown.  Even  the  trap 
pers  of  the  Northwest  had  little  faith  in  the  ex 
istence  of  its  natural  wonders,  and  all  pretending 
to  have  acquaintance  with  them  were  regarded 
as  unreliable  romancers.  The  first  white  man 
to  explore  the  district  was  undoubtedly  a  man 
named  Coulter,  who  belonged  to  the  Lewis  and 
Clarke  expedition.  On  the  return  of  that  ex 
pedition  Coulter,  at  his  own  request,  was  dis 
charged  near  the  mouth  of  the  Yellowstone,  and 
immediately  returned  to  the  country  above  the 
forks  of  the  Missouri.  There  his  companion 
was  killed  by  the  Blackfeet  Indians,  and  Coulter 
himself  made  a  captive.  On  his  escape,  some 
time  later,  he  joined  the  Bannocks,  a  tribe 
whose  range  then  included  the  Park  area.  It 
was  either  during  his  captivity  or  voluntary  life 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.         211 

with  the  Bannocks  that  Coulter  gained  his 
knowledge  of  the  country  of  hot  springs  and 
geysers;  for  in  1810,  on  his  return  to  St.  Louis, 
he  is  reported  as  telling  strange  tales  that  were 
interesting,  but  of  course  highly  improbable. 
Even  so  late  as  1859  none  really  believed  that 
there  was  anything  really  remarkable  in  the  Yel 
lowstone,  and  all  reports  regarding  the  phenom 
ena  were  considered  but  idle  tales.  The  region 
had  its  visitors,  no  doubt ;  but  the  man  who  could 
tell  what  he  saw  without  exaggeration,  seems 
to  have  been  lacking.  In  his  report  for  1878 
Colonel  Norris  mentions  finding  a  block  house 
near  the  Grand  Canon,  and  elsewhere  of  a  cache 
of  marten  traps  and  other  relics  of  early  trappers. 
The  report  of  Captain  De  Lacy  attracted  little 
attention.  In  1869  two  prospectors  entered  the 
Park  and  went  as  far  south  as  the  lake,  crossing 
from  there  to  the  Geyser  Basins.  Their  story  at 
once  became  widely  known,  and  created  much 
excitement.  The  following  year  a  large  party 
of  Montana  settlers,  under  the  lead  of  General 
Washburne,  then  surveyor-general,  made  an  ex 
tended  survey  of  the  Park,  visiting  most  of  the 
places  known  to-day.  When  near  the  head  of 
the  lake  Mr.  Evarts,  a  member  of  the  expedition, 


212  SHOSHONE. 

became  separated  from  his  companions  and  was 
lost.  After  suffering  great  hardships  he  was 
found  near  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs.  It  is  in 
his  honor  that  the  name  Mount  Evarts  is  given  to 
the  high  peak  which  overlooks  the  narrow  valley 
containing  the  great  lime  terraces  that  are  now 
so  often  visited.  In  1871  Dr.  Hay  den  made  his 
memorable  journey,  the  report  of  which  was 
presented  to  Congress,  and  since  that  year  the 
Park  has  rarely  been  without  its  visitors.  Count 
less  descriptions  of  its  beauties  and  wonders 
have  been  published,  and  the  reports  of  the 
Government  Geologists,  issued  from  time  to 
time,  have  given  the  scientific  explanation  of 
whatever  is  strange  and  phenomenal.  In  1877 
the  Nez  Perces  Indians  raided  the  Park,  killing 
several  people  and  destroying  whatever  property 
they  could  find.  They  were  pursued  by  General 
O.  O.  Howard,  who  followed  nearly  the  exact 
course  of  the  Beaver  Canon  route  through 
Tyghee  Pass,  and  across  the  Madison  Valley. 
In  1878  the  Bannock  Indians  entered  the  Park, 
and  were  captured  by  General  Nelson  A.  Miles. 
At  present  the  Indians  are  under  complete  con 
trol,  and  the  Park  is  without  dangers  of  any  kind. 
It  is  under  the  charge  of  a  general  superintend- 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         213 

cut,  and  careful  watch  is  placed  over  the  most 
frequently  visited  places  to  sec  that  none  of  the 
formations  are  mutilated. 

The  so-called  lower,  which  is  really  the  north 
ern,  end  of  the  Yellowstone  contains  the  famous 
lime  formations  known  as  the  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs.  A  day's  stage-ride  due  southward  are 
the  Lower  and  Upper  Geyser  Basins.  ^Midway 
between  these  two  features  of  interest,  but  lying 
to  the  eastward,  are  the  Canon  and  Grand  Falls 
of  the  Yellowstone  River.  Directly  northeast  of 
the  Geyser  Basins  is  the  Yellowstone  Lake.  An 
ordinary  tour  of  the  Park  means  a  visit  to  these 
several  places.  The  Government  has  built  a 
series  of  roads  connecting  them;  and  large 
hotels,  all  under  one  management,  have  been 
erected  at  Norris  and  the  two  more  southerly 
Geyser  Basins,  at  the  Canon,  and  at  the  Hot 
Springs.  The  latter  hotel  is  of  huge  size,  and 
has  many  of  the  modern  conveniences.  The 
others  arc  smaller,  and  make  little  attempt  at 
either  beauty  or  comfort.  They  serve  the  brief 
demands  made  upon  them,  however,  and  one 
need  fear  no  material  privations  while  visiting 
the  Wonderland  country.  In  time  the  Govern 
ment  roads  will  be  so  extended  as  to  make  the 


214  SHOSHONE. 

stage-ride  less  long  and  hard  than  at  present; 
and  one  may  then  have  the  additional  pleasure 
of  going  to  the  lake,  now  rather  remote  and  in 
accessible  to  all  save  those  who  do  not  mind 
rough  riding  and  primitive  accommodations. 

As  we  descended  the  wooded  ridge  over  which 
we  had  climbed  from  the  Madison  Valley,  there 
were  views  eastward  through  the  trees  of  the 
Firehole  Basin,  toward  which  our  road  led. 
The  air  was  filled  with  the  strong  sulphurous 
odor  which  is  peculiar  to  the  region,  and  scat 
tered  over  the  grass-grown  levels  were  rising 
clouds  of  mist,  born  of  the  boiling  hot  springs. 
Far  beyond  the  limits  of  the  valley  the  hill-sides 
were  thickly  overgrown  with  forests,  and  in  the 
extreme  distance  were  tall  white  peaks.  The 
wood  through  which  we  passed  led  down  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  basin,  and  there  were  even 
scattered  masses  of  trees  in  the  valley  itself. 
But  the  long,  wide  stretches  of  grass  were  every 
where  dotted  with  the  geyser  springs,  here  gath 
ered  into  groups  and  sending  forth  dense  volumes 
of  steam,  and  again  completely  isolated  and  hav 
ing  a  field  all  green  and  fair  except  the  one  weird 
spot  from  which  the  heated  waters  poured  their 
rising  clouds. 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.        215 

Looking  for  the  first  time  upon  the  geysers 
and  hot  springs  of  the  Park,  one  experiences  a 
peculiar  sensation.  He  grows  distrustful  of  the 
very  ground  beneath  his  feet,  feeling  that  even 
there  may  be  mysterious  caverns  where  the  air 
is  filled  with  sulphur  gases,  and  where  heated 
waters  are  ready  to  burst  through  the  walls  that 
hold  them  down.  Both  the  Upper  and  Lower 
Geyser  Basins  are  fairly  honeycombed.  In  what 
ever  direction  you  look  are  the  same  masses 
of  cloud-like  vapor,  outlined  against  the  forests 
behind  them ;  the  same  brilliantly  colored  pools, 
writh  delicately  tinted  rims ;  and,  far  away,  the 
silent,  white-robed  peaks.  You  may  tire  of  the 
geysers,  and  grow  indifferent  to  the  cause  of  their 
existence ;  but  the  general  features  of  the  Park 
landscape  —  its  vastness,  its  varied  coloring,  its 
bold  mingling  of  the  grand  and  of  the  pictur 
esque  —  you  can  never  forget  nor  cease  to  appre 
ciate  and  enjoy.  The  air  at  all  times,  and  particu 
larly  in  the  early  fall,  is  wonderfully  pure,  bracing, 
and  clear,  and  the  sky  is  rarely  overcast.  As  the 
sunlight  falls  upon  the  great  unbroken  forests 
and  strangely  fashioned  geyser  cones,  the  effect 
is  indescribably  charming.  Each  hue  is  intensi 
fied,  as  on  the  ground-glass  of  a  camera;  and 


2l6  SHOSHONE. 

day  by  day  the  Park  grows  more  fascinating  and 
replete  with  interest.  Its  scenery  is  often  sug 
gestive  of  that  of  other  parts  of  the  Rocky  Moun 
tain  country.  But  as  surely  as  you  are  ready 
to  say  this  is  so,  the  sudden  appearance  of  a 
boiling  hot  spring,  or  the  ghost-like  uprising 
of  a  geyser  stream  will  enforce  the  fact  that, 
notwithstanding  the  occasional  similarity,  the 
Yellowstone  is  still  a  region  peculiar  to  itself, 
strangely  fashioned  and  impressive  to  a  marked 
degree. 

The  ten-mile  drive  from  Firehole  to  Upper 
Geyser  Basin  has,  in  addition  to  its  other  features, 
the  charm  of  certain  novelty.  To  one  fresh  from 
the  comparatively  prosaic  outside  world,  the 
sight  of  acres  of  steaming  pools,  of  blood-red 
basins,  and  of  incrusted  fields  from  which  comes 
a  noise  as  of  hissing  serpents,  and  over  which 
hovers  a  white  shroud  of  mist,  is  a  revelation. 
And  when  you  at  last  come  within  range  of  the 
many  active  geysers  that  give  the  Upper  Basin  its 
name ;  when  you  hear  them,  now  low  murmuring, 
now  giving  out  a  loud,  despairing  cry ;  when  you 
see  the  tall  columns  of  water,  smoking-hot,  leap 
ing  skyward  and  filling  the  air  with  vapor,  —  you 
are  ready  to  acknowledge  that  all  preconceived 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.         2  17 

ideas  of  the  Park  were  but  vague  and  shadowy, 
and  that  the  reality  far  surpasses  even  your  wildest 
expectations. 

Nearly  midway  between  Firehole  and  the  Up 
per  Geyser  Basin  is  a  bit  of  lowland  that  has  the 
most  appropriate  name  of  "  Hell's  Half  Acre." 
Forests,  still  green  and  fresh,  enclose  the  noisy, 
vapory  place,  but  the  half  acre  itself  is  one  of 
wailing  spirits.  The  treacherous  crust,  through 
which  numerous  springs  find  a  vent,  is  burning- 
hot,  and  one  never  knows  when  it  will  give  \vay 
beneath  his  weight.  The  air  is  filled  with  sul 
phur  fumes,  and  the  whitened  trunks  of  once 
stately  pines,  now  being  slowly  buried  beneath 
the  incrustation,  are  like  the  giant  arms  of  the 
doomed,  vainly  reaching  forth  for  help,  but 
relentlessly  held  by  unseen  hands. 

The  scientific  name  of  the  springs  to  which 
the  local  guide-books  give  the  Satanic  title  I 
have  quoted,  is  the  Half  Way  Group,  or  Egcria 
Springs.  There  are  thirty-nine  different  springs 
altogether,  and  two  of  them  are  among  the  most 
famous  in  the  Park.  The  Grand  Prismatic  Spring 
is  the  largest,  and  measures  two  hundred  and 
fifty  by  three  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  Its  color 
ing  is  wonderfully  and  indescribably  brilliant 


2l8  SHOSHONE. 

and  varied.  The  outer  rim  of  the  huge  opening, 
from  which  rise  dense  clouds  of  steam,  is  of  a 
bright  red  deposit,  and  between  it  and  the  blue- 
green  water  are  circles  of  yellow,  orange,  brown, 
purples,  and  grays.  Each  hue  is  distinctly 
marked,  and  is  intensified  by  a  ground-work  of 
grayish  white.  Next  to  the  Prismatic  is  Tor- 
quoise  Spring,  intensely  blue  and  overflowing 
through  a  long  trough  which  is  white  on  the 
bottom  and  has  edges  of  salmon  color  and 
brown.  Close  to  it  is  the  Cliff  Caldron,  or  Ex 
celsior  Geyser,  three  hundred  and  thirty  feet  in 
length  and  two  hundred  feet  wide,  the  largest 
orifice  in  the  Yellowstone.  Until  the  year  1880, 
when  its  first  eruption  was  witnessed,  no  one 
knew  that  the  geyser  was  more  than  a  spring. 
In  that  year,  however,  it  manifested  its  power, 
and  earned  the  right  to  its  present  reputation. 
The  eruptions  continued  at  irregular  intervals 
from  September  27  to  October  7.  The  greatest 
height  which  the  column  of  ejected  water  at 
tained  at  any  one  time  was  three  hundred  feet. 
Rocks  weighing  many  pounds  were  hurled  high 
above  the  rising  stream,  and  the  Firehole  River, 
which  runs  near  by,  became  a  foaming  flood  of 
boiling  water.  At  present  the  geyser  is  enjoying 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.         2IQ 

a  long  period  of  rest,  and  the  water  is  twenty 
feet  below  the  walls  of  the  steaming  cavern.  It 
is  constantly  boiling  over,  however,  and  has 
formed  a  series  of  terraces  traversed  by  deep, 
beautifully  tinted  channels. 

One  of  the  stories  told  in  early  days  was  to 
the  effect  that  the  Yellowstone  Park  had  great 
areas  of  petrified  sage,  "  with  all  the  leaves  and 
branches  in  perfect  condition,  while  the  rabbits 
and  sage  hens  were  still  there,  perfectly  petrified 
but  as  natural  as  when  living;   and  more  won 
derful  yet,  the  petrified   bushes  bear  the  most 
wonderful  fruit,  —  diamonds,  rubies,  and  emer 
alds  as  large  as  walnuts."    "  The  story,"  says  Dr. 
Hayden  in  one  of  his  reports,  "  has  a  large  basis 
of  fact,  absurd  as  it  sounds.     There  are  fields 
of  sage,  as  well  as  bits  of  forest,  which,  lying  in 
the    immediate  vicinity   of  springs,   have    been 
petrified    while    standing.      The    hot,    silicious 
water    is    drawn   up   through   the   pores   of  the 
wood,  and  between  the  wood  and  the  bark,  by 
capillary  attraction,  and,  depositing  silica  wher 
ever  it  goes,  transforms  the  tree  or  brush  into 
rock."     As  for  the  fruit,  it  is  borne  on  the  out 
side  and  inside  of  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  rather 
than  on  their  branches.     The   trunks  are  con- 


22O  SHOSHONE. 

verted  into  crystalline  quartz,  —  amethystine  or 
yellow,  —  and  it  is  this  which  gives  the  "  moun 
tain  man "  his  diamonds  as  large  as  walnuts. 
Some  of  the  crystals  on  the  trees  near  Excelsior 
were  gorgeously  colored,  and  for  a  moment  we 
rather  regretted  not  being  able  to  take  a  few  of 
them  away  with  us. 

It  was  a  relief  to  reach  the  living  forests  again. 
The  road  led  along  the  banks  of  Firehole  River 
and  made  frequent  crossings  of  the  stream  over 
rustic  bridges.  With  few  exceptions  there  was 
no  suggestion  of  the  near  presence  of  geysers 
and  boiling  springs.  Now  and  then  a  thin  cloud 
of  vapor  could  be  seen  far  in  the  quiet  seclusion 
of  the  forest;  but  as  a  rule  there  were  only 
sylvan  shades  and  the  fast-running  river,  bright 
and  clear  as  those  among  the  mountains. 

Gaining  an  elevated  point  of  lookout,  the 
scene  changed  again.  Directly  before  us  was 
spread  the  long,  narrow  valley,  which  is  to-day 
the  marvel  of  the  world.  The  Upper  Geyser 
Basin  has  no  counterpart.  Its  spouting  foun 
tains,  its  colors,  and  its  formations  are  all  un 
equalled  phenomena.  Through  nearly  the  centre 
of  the  valley  speeds  the  winding  river;  and  on 
its  either  bank  are  grouped  the  geysers,  —  some 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.         221 

with  castle-like  cones  of  chalky  whiteness,  others 
mere  circular  bowls  in  whose  depths  one  may 
see  the  troubled  waters  preparing  for  their  sud 
den  leap  high  into  mid-air.  Within  the  place  - 
which  ever  seems  enchanted  —  you  are  encircled 
by  wooded  hills,  —  a  dull-green  background  to 
the  white  cones  and  whiter  water-spouts  ;  and  the 
ground,  save  for  its  scattered  basins  of  blue  and 
pink,  gold  and  red,  is  like  a  chalk-bed,  — soft  to 
the  touch  and  crumbling  with  chemical  action. 

Here,  surely,  is  the  Wonderland  whose  fea 
tures  the  guide-books  so  minutely  describe. 
The  entire  area  of  the  basin  is  nearly  four  square 
miles.  It  is  well  timbered,  and  the  soil  where 
there  are  no  spring  deposits  is  a  dark  volcanic 
sand.  Near  the  river  the  formation  is  calca 
reous,  and  rises  above  the  level  of  the  stream 
to  a  height  of  from  ten  to  twenty  feet.  The 
first  descriptions  of  the  springs  and  geysers  were 
given  by  members  of  the  Washburne  expedi 
tion  ;  later  information  has  been  gained  through 
the  Government  Geologists  who  visit  the  basin 
nearly  every  year.  More  than  four  hundred 
and  fifty  springs  have  already  been  named,  and 
of  these  are  many  which  are  distinctly  geysers. 
From  the  balcony  of  the  hotel  a  score  of  them 


222  SHOSHONE. 

may  be  seen.  Some  send  forth  high  spiral 
columns;  others  are  mere  fountains,  rising  and 
falling  in  obedience  to  the  unseen  forces.  One 
famous  geyser,  Old  Faithful,  has  an  hourly 


OLD   FAITHFUL. 


eruption.  Its  cream-white  cone  forms  the  apex 
of  a  low  mound  near  the  hotel,  and  from 
this,  preceding  every  action,  issue  loud,  hoarse 
groans  and  waves  of  heated  air.  Far  down 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.         223 

the  chimney-like  opening  you  can  see  the  surg 
ing  waters,  now  filling  the  gloomy  depths,  then 
disappearing,  and  finally  bursting  forth  in  a 
torrent  and  shooting  skyward  like  a  rocket. 
For  five  minutes  the  gorgeous  spectacle  lasts, 
and  the  slopes  of  the  mound  are  overrun  with 
steaming  rivulets.  Then  the  eruption  ceases. 
With  a  few  despairing  efforts  the  waters  return 
to  their  caverns,  and  the  cone  is  only  an  empty 
shell,  bluish-white  within,  and  like  a  block  of 
incrusted  marble  on  the  outside.  The  actual 
height  which  the  waters  attain  is  two  hundred 
feet.  The  stream  itself  is  six  feet  in  diameter, 
and  falls  in  a  graceful  arc  that  ends  in  a  glit 
tering  shower.  The  eruptions  occur  at  regular 
intervals  of  every  fifty-seven  minutes. 

Among  the  largest  and  best-known  geysers  of 
the  Upper  Basin  are  the  Bee  Hive,  with  a  cone 
of  such  shape  as  easily  to  suggest  the  name,  and 
from  which  the  fountain  rises  200  feet;  the 
Giant,  —  diameter  7  feet,  height  140  feet,  dura 
tion  3  hours;  the  Giantess,  —  diameter  18  feet, 
height  of  extreme  jet  250  feet,  duration  20 
minutes;  the  Grand,  —  diameter  20  to  25  feet, 
height  250  feet,  duration  20  minutes ;  the  Grotto, 
—  diameter  4  feet,  height  60  feet,  duration  30 


224  SHOSHONE. 

minutes ;  the  Castle,  —  diameter  5  feet,  and 
height  50  feet;  and  the  Fan,  —  60  feet  high, 
and  duration  from  10  to  30  minutes.  The 
cones  of  the  Castle  and  Grotto  are  indescriba 
bly  beautiful.  They  are  of  pearly  whiteness,  and 
are  lined  with  mother-of-pearl  tints  that  glow 
like  masses  of  opal.  The  Giantess  has  no  rim 
to  its  bowl,  and  when  inactive  the  waters  are 
out  of  sight.  During  its  period  of  eruption, 
however,  the  bowl  is  filled  to  overflowing ;  and 
when  the  moment  of  greatest  activity  arrives  the 
waters  are  hurled  forth  in  a  body,  the  major 
portion  rising  only  a  few  feet  and  then  falling 
back,  but  slender  jets  shoot  far  above  the  open 
ing,  and  rise  higher  with  every  loud  pulsation  of 
the  heavily  breathing  monster.  Standing  near 
this  throbbing  creature,  then  manifesting  its 
enormous  strength,  we  felt  the  earth  tremble, 
the  air  was  filled  with  groans,  and  the  river- 
banks  were  deluged  with  the  steaming  floods. 
For  days  the  pool  had  shown  signs  of  distress, 
the  waters  boiling  and  the  steam  rising  in  dense 
clouds.  At  times  the  agitation  grew  more  pro 
nounced  ;  and  visitors,  leaving  the  other  geysers, 
rushed  to  it,  hoping  that  the  time  of  the  great 
eruption  had  arrived.  At  last,  toward  sundown, 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         225 

the  moment  came.  From  its  hot  resting-place 
there  arose  a  tremulous  wall  of  water  that  grew 
in  height  before  our  very  eyes.  Like  a  wind 
swept  lake,  shot  into  mid-air,  it  hung  suspended 
above  the  pool.  Then,  thrusting  forth  its  tall 
spires  of  minute  particles,  it  fell  to  earth  again 
and  swelled  the  volume  of  the  river. 

One  who  has  never  seen  them  can  form  no 
conception  of  the  cones  from  which  the  waters 
of  the  several  geysers  escape.  In  the  distance 
they  resemble  white-walled  castles ;  and  a  closer 
inspection  reveals  a  multitude  of  brilliant  colors. 
The  walls  vary  in  height  from  eight  to  eleven 
feet  above  the  crest  of  the  formation  which  they 
crown,  and  are  composed  of  hardened  cream- 
white  silica.  The  Castle  Geyser  cone  stands  on 
a  mound  forty  feet  higher  than  the  river,  and  is 
the  most  picturesque  feature  of  the  Upper  Basin. 
A  thin  column  of  steam  continually  escapes  from 
the  orifice  of  the  cone,  and  at  intervals  small  jets 
of  water  spurt  high  above  the  clear,  white  walls. 
Few  are  fortunate  enough  to  see  a  complete 
eruption.  The  Earl  of  Dunraven  was  one  of 
the  favored,  however,  and  in  his  description  of 
the  scene  he  says  that  the  column  reached  an 
altitude  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  Immense 
'5 


226  SHOSHONE. 

quantities  of  hot  water  were  ejected,  and  the  de 
scending  spray  ran  in  torrents  down  the  geyser 
sides.  The  noise  was  like  that  heard  on  the 
sea  cliffs,  when  the  ocean  is  lashed  by  a  storm, 
and  the  ground  trembled  from  the  shock.  For 
twenty  minutes  the  spectacle  continued,  and  fol 
lowing  the  water  came  hissing  steam,  expelled 
in  regular  beats  and  making  a  continuous  roar. 

The  walls  of  the  Grotto  are  not  so  high  as 
those  of  the  Castle,  but  its  crater  is  hollowed 
into  fantastic  arches  beneath  which  are  the  rents 
through  which  the  water  and  steam  escape. 
During  eruption  the  two  main  cones  are  del 
uged  and  nearly  concealed  by  fine  white  spray, 
through  which  spurt  small  jets  that  shoot  up 
ward  from  twenty  to  forty  feet.  On  the  outside 
the  walls  are  very  white,  but  on  the  inside  they 
are  of  light  sea-green,  reminding  one  of  blocks  of 
ice,  —  only  they  are  hot  to  the  touch  and  smell 
of  sulphur.  We  did  not  see  these  two  geysers  at 
their  best,  we  were  told ;  but  they  seemed  very 
beautiful,  and  the  forests  gave  them  a  back 
ground  that  intensified  all  their  colors,  They 
were  less  noisy  than  the  others,  less  terrible, 
and  less  suggestive  of  a  force  that  could,  had  it 
pleased,  break  away  from  all  bounds  and  scatter 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         22/ 

a  broadcast  desolation.  The  spray  that  now  and 
again  poured  forth  from  the  openings  was  as 
light  and  graceful  as  a  veil,  filled  with  colors 
where  the  sun's  rays  shone  upon  the  quivering 
drops,  and  draping  the  geyser  sides  with  shim 
mering  sheets.  A  master  hand  has  chiselled 
the  walls  of  these  cones.  There  are  countless 
little  towers  and  turrets  and  loopholes,  from 
which  escape  tiny  jets  of  steam ;  and  at  the 
Grotto  you  can  step  within  the  gloriously  tinted 
caverns  and  imagine  them  rooms  of  an  actual 
castle. 

You  cannot  easily  grasp  the  full  significance 
of  the  Upper  Basin  for  a  day  or  two.  In  his 
enthusiasm  one  hastens  from  place  to  place, 
and  loses  not  only  time  but  the  chance  to  study 
the  features  of  each  eruption.  And  by  study 
alone  can  you  comprehend  the  spectacle  that 
the  region  affords.  There  are  other  geysers  in 
the  world,  —  in  Iceland  and  in  New  Zealand,  — 
and  thermal  springs  without  number.  But  some 
of  the  largest  geysers  are  here  in  this  little  area 
of  four  square  miles;  and  the  phenomena  pre 
sented  by  them  have  been  investigated  again 
and  again.  I  confess  that  we  grew  tired  of  the 
boiling  waters,  so  restless  and  hot,  and  that  it 


228  SHOSHONE. 

was  sometimes  pleasanter  to  sit  on  the  hotel 
veranda  and  watch  the  eruptions  from  a  dis 
tance.  But  none  of  us,  I  think,  ever  wearied  of 
the  gorgeous  colorings  of  the  region,  or  neg 
lected  to  applaud  a  geyser  in  action.  Whenever 
we  looked  down  the  valley  we  were  sure  to  see 
one  or  more  columns  of  water  leaping  skyward ; 
and  if  there  was  not  water  there  was  steam,  and 
that  from  a  distance  was  quite  as  effective. 

I  have  not  by  any  means  given  an  exhaustive 
list  of  the  different  springs  and  geysers,  nor  told 
where  they  may  be  found.  Such  information  is 
afforded  by  the  local  guide-books,  and  every 
geyser  is  labelled  with  a  sign.  You  can  easily 
find  them  all.  If  the  Giant  happens  to  be  in 
action,  you  will  need  no  guide  to  it.  The  dark- 
colored  crater  is  ten  feet  high,  and  the  inside 
walls  are  yellow  and  are  broken  down  on  one 
side.  When  playing,  a  column  of  water  is 
ejected  that  measures  five  feet  in  diameter,  and 
attains  an  altitude  of  nearly  two  hundred  feet. 
The  eruption  continues  for  hours,  and  is  con 
ceded  to  be  one  of  the  grandest  spectacles  in 
the  basin.  Its  only  equals  in  the  world  are  the 
Giantess  and  the  Great  Geyser  of  Iceland,  the 
latter  being  the  largest  in  the  world.  More 


THE  GIANT   GEYSER. 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         231 

than  seventy-five  active  geysers  have  already 
been  found  in  the  Park,  and  twenty-five  of  this 
number  are  in  the  Upper  Basin. 

Near  the  Castle  geyser  is  one  of  the  most 
beautifully  colored  pools  in  the  Park.  It  is  very 
deep,  and  the  water  is  so  clear  that  one  can  see 
far  into  its  depths.  The  blueness  is  that  of  the 
sky  intensified,  and  the  rim  of  the  pool  is  pink, 
shading  to  orange  and  cream-white.  At  certain 
angles  the  geyser  cone  near  by  is  reflected  on 
the  calm  surface,  and  the  wide  circular  basin 
expands  in  one's  imagination  until  it  becomes  a 
sea,  and  the  cone  a' ship,  becalmed  upon  it,  but 
with  all  sail  set.  Other  richly  colored  places 
were  the  quick-sloping  banks  of  the  river  near 
the  Giantess  and  Bee  Hive  geysers.  The  under- 
coloring  was  light-yellow,  and  overlying  this 
were  streamers  of  red,  blue,  and  orange,  with 
a  bordering  near  the  water  of  green  grasses. 
The  brilliancy  of  the  hues  was  everywhere 
heightened  by  the  overflow  from  the  geysers, 
which  ran  down  the  bank  toward  the  Firehole, 
and  by  the  bright  sunlight,  that  was  of  dazzling 
clearness. 

It  is  said,  although  I  cannot  vouch  for  the 
truth  of  the  assertion,  that  if  you  soap  a  geyser 


232  SHOSHONE. 

it  will  immediately  display  its  power.  The  mili 
tary  guardians  stationed  in  the  valley  keep  an 
open  eye  on  sight-seers,  and  one  is  not  anxious 
to  try  experiments.  I  noticed,  however,  that 
our  taciturn  driver  exerted  a  peculiar  influ 
ence  upon  such  geysers  as  he  chanced  to  visit. 
Almost  immediately  following  his  advent  an 
eruption  occurred.  The  Bee  Hive,  for  instance, 
performed  most  bravely  for  our  benefit,  and  so 
did  others  that  had  not  been  so  accommodating 
for  many  days. 

The  soaping  process  is  very  simple.  A  small 
bar  of  soap  dropped  into  a  cone  will  so  grease 
the  wheels  of  the  unseen  force  below  as  to  cause 
almost  instant  action.  The  story  is  told  of  a 
Chinaman  who  came  to  the  Park  and  pitched 
his  tent  over  a  tempting  spring  of  boiling  water. 
He  had  found,  he  thought,  a  natural  wash-tub ; 
but  the  soap  with  which  he  liberally  lathered 
his  week's  washing  had  the  effect  of  waking  the 
slumbering  force  of  the  geyser.  An  eruption 
followed,  and  high  into  the  air  went  tent  and 
clothes,  leaving  the  astonished  Celestial  a  sadder 
and  a  wiser  man. 

On  nearing  the  Upper  Basin  the  Firehole 
River  flows  down  a  narrow,  rock-bound  canon 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         233 

that  offers  a  delightful  retreat  after  the  glare  of 
the  valley  has  caused  one's  eyes  to  burn,  and 
when  the  geysers  have  ceased  to  interest.  Two 
miles  above  the  hotel  is  a  series  of  cascades,  the 
water  leaping  from  one  mossy  ledge  to  another, 
and  then  bounding  forward  down  a  half-mile  of 
rapids.  The  forests  are  very  dense  on  either 
side  of  the  falls,  and  the  air  is  deliciously  free 
from  the  sulphur  odors  that,  in  time,  are  so  apt 
to  offend  and  distress.  The  canon  was  our  favor 
ite  retreat  near  the  close  of  our  busy  day  of 
sight-seeing,  and  the  driver,  when  he  first  piloted 
us  there,  showed  an  agility  which  we  did  not 
believe  he  possessed. 

In  the  morning  of  our  last  day  at  the  geysers 
we  were  given  a  taste  of  winter.  A  cold  rain  of 
the  night  before  had  turned  to  snow  a  little 
before  sunrise,  and  at  breakfast  the  ground  was 
covered  and  the  trees  were  bending  beneath 
their  unwelcome  covering.  In  the  valley  the 
cones  were  double  their  usual  size,  and  the 
vapor  was  like  a  sea-fog,  hiding  all  but  the  nearer 
objects  as  it  rose  from  every  crack  and  crevice 
of  the  earth  and  gaping  safety-valve  of  the  sub 
terranean  'caverns.  The  drive  back  to  Fireholc 
was  cold  and  cheerless,  and  made  us  realize,  as 


234  SHOSHONE. 

we  might  not  otherwise  have  done,  so  warm  and 
beautiful  had  been  the  days,  that  our  summer 
was  on  the  wane,  and  that  winter  was  ready  to 
descend  upon  the  Park. 

The  Lower  Geyser  Basin,  or  Firehole,  is  less 
closely  confined  by  the  hills  than  is  the  case 
with  its  near  companion,  and  cannot  be  seen  to 
so  good  an  advantage.  Its  area  is  nearly  forty 
square  miles,  and  there  are  six  hundred  and 
ninety-three  boiling  springs,  exclusive  of  seven 
teen  that  are  of  sufficient  importance  to  rank 
as  geysers.  One  would  possibly  be  more  im 
pressed  than  perhaps  he  will  be  at  Firehole, 
were  it  not  that  geysers  begin  to  grow  tiresome 
after  too  intimate  an  acquaintance ;  and  at  the 
Upper  Basin  they  are  your  constant  companions. 
The  local  guide-books,  however,  are  filled  with 
enticing  pictures  of  existing  splendors  ;  and  one 
humbly  visits  whatever  is  set  down  as  necessary 
to  be  seen.  But  I  confess  that  all  novelty  had 
departed.  I  liked  the  general  rather  than  the 
particular  features,  and  a  geyser,  if  not  in  erup 
tion,  was  looked  at  askance. 

The  drives  about  Firehole  were  our  greatest 
joy.  To-day,  on  horseback,  we  followed  narrow 
winding  trails  that  led  to  secluded  springs  cold 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         235 

as  ice,  or  burning-hot;  and  on  the  morrow 
drove  across  the  meadows  to  a  high  table-land 
literally  covered  with  formations,  and  thickly 
studded  with  boiling  springs  and  wide,  open 
pools  that  now  and  again  were  hurled  bodily 
into  the  air.  On  the  extreme  top  of  this  high 
land,  nestled  in  a  group  of  pines,  are  the  Paint 
Pots.  There  are  several  of  these  caldrons  of 
boiling  mud  in  the  Park,  and  to  each  is  given 
this  fanciful  name.  The  largest  is  near  the  en 
trance  to  Gibbon  Canon,  a  few  miles  north  of 
Firehole.  The  Lower  Basin  caldron  covers  an 
area  nearly  sixty  feet  long  by  forty  wide,  and  is 
enclosed  by  a  rim  five  feet  high.  It  is  filled 
with  a  fine  silicious  clay,  in  a  state  of  constant 
agitation,  and  contains  a  group  of  smaller  basins 
each  about  three  feet  wide,  which  are  filled  with 
a  sputtering  compound  of  many  colors,  —  blue, 
pink,  brown,  and  gray. 

Near  the  Paint  Pots  is  Fountain  Geyser,  a 
deep,  blue  pool  that  boils  and  steams  and  occa 
sionally  has  an  eruption  which  sends  the  main 
body  of  water  upward  to  a  height  of  ten  feet, 
and  small  jets  to  an  altitude  of  fifty.  From  its 
rim  we  could  see  far  over  the  great  crusted 
mound  which  the  geyser  and  mud  caldron  oc- 


236  SHOSHONE. 

cupy.  The  air  was  raw  and  cold,  and  the  rain 
and  snow  of  a  few  days  before  had  turned  the 
marshes  into  ponds.  Down  in  the  depths  of 
the  Fountain  the  rumblings  were  long  and  loud, 
and  the  water  was  churned  into  foam  and  ran  in 
rivulets  down  the  white  sides  of  the  hill.  At 
last  the  action  began  in  earnest,  and  for  half  an 
hour  the  geyser  became  indeed  a  fountain,  the 
water  leaping  high  above  its  basin  and  falling 
back,  only  to  rise  again  and  again  until  it  fell 
exhausted.  We  left  it  with  regret,  for  it  was 
our  last  day  in  the  basin  and  no  more  geysers 
were  to  be  visited. 

From  the  Lower  Basin  our  route  led  eastward 
over  the  hills  and  through  the  forests  to  the 
Grand  Canon  of  the  Yellowstone.  The  road 
was  rough,  but  the  views  after  entering  Hayden 
Valley,  where  one  first  catches  sight  of  the 
Yellowstone,  more  than  counterbalanced  all  dis 
comforts.  Once  out  of  the  forests  the  prospect 
broadened,  and  we  were  face  to  face  with  the 
white-topped  peaks  that  had  been  our  distant 
landmarks  for  so  many  days.  Far  to  the  south 
rose  the  bold  headlands  of  Yellowstone  Lake; 
and  in  the  north  stood  Mount  Washburne,  its 
feet  hid  by  the  pines.  At  the  entrance  to  Hay- 


FOLLOWING   THE   YELLOWSTONE. 


GEYSERS   OF  THE   YELLOWSTONE.         239 

den  Valley  we  swept  around  the  edge  of  Sul 
phur  Mountain,  —  a  huge  pile  of  pure  sulphur, 
yellow-tinged  and  filling  the  air  with  odor,  — 
and  then  passed  out  upon  an  open  rolling  plain 
with  long  stretches  of  brown  grass  and  dark- 
green  pines  that  looked  like  massive  armies. 
Later  we  reached  the  Yellowstone,  and  for  hours 
drove  along  its  tree-grown  bank,  catching  bright 
glimpses  of  the  placid  waters  flowing  beneath 
the  overhanging  boughs. 

As  the  day  neared  its  end  we  descended 
from  the  river's  bank  into  the  Canon,  through 
which  it  now  began  to  force  its  way,  forded  a 
branch  of  the  stream,  and  were  wrapped  in  the 
gloom  of  the  narrow  defile  that  the  Yellowstone 
has  worn.  Above  the  sighing  of  the  pines  could 
be  heard  the  roar  of  the  Falls,  and  at  our  side 
the  river  ran  headlong  toward  the  fearful  preci 
pice  over  which  it  takes  its  fearless  leap.  Every 
moment  now  the  cliffs  that  hemmed  us  in  rose 
higher  and  higher.  Hardy  trees  grew  from  the 
crevices  of  the  dark-stained  rocks,  and  the  river 
was  lashed  into  foam  by  half-submerged  ledges 
lifting  their  wet  heads  above  the  seething  tide. 
We  were  still  in  Wonderland ;  but  instead  of 
weirdness  there  was  beauty,  and  the  air  was 


240  SHOSHONE. 

fragrant  as  in  our  New  England  woods.  Chat 
tering  squirrels  sat  on  the  pine  boughs  and 
mocked  us,  and  there  were  mossy  banks  and 
thick  layers  of  pine-needles.  No  need  to  tell 
us  that  we  had  now  reached  what  is  indispu 
tably  the  most  satisfying  corner  of  the  Park. 
We  realized  the  fact,  even  in  the  gathering 
darkness. 

The  hotel  at  the  Grand  Canon  stands  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  Upper  Fall,  and  is  surrounded 
by  a  heavy  growth  of  pines.  To  the  right  runs 
the  river,  and  at  the  left  of  the  house  begins  a 
narrow  path  that  follows  along  the  edge  of  the 
stream,  but  high  above  it,  to  the  various  points 
of  observation  from  which  one  looks  into  the 
Canon  and  upon  the  two  grand  cataracts.  In 
the  evening  of  our  arrival  we  sat  around  the 
office  stove,  listening  to  the  praises  of  the  place. 
In  the  morning  we  walked  down  stream  to  see 
for  ourselves  what  it  was  like,  and  if  it  had  been 
too  much  glorified.  One  look,  and  we  were 
satisfied.  I  had  imagined  that  the  West  had 
nothing  new  to  offer;  had  thought  I  knew  its 
features  thoroughly,  and  that  I  could  not  be 
surprised  into  fresh  enthusiasm.  But  when  I 
stood  upon  an  overhanging  ledge  and  saw -at 


GRAND    CANON    OF   THE   YELLOWSTONE. 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.         243 

my  feet  a  narrow  canon  nearly  two  thousand 
feet  deep,  its  rough-hewn  walls  of  countless 
colors,  I  knew  that  here  was  something  such  as 
I  had  never  seen  before. 

Imagine  the  prospect.  Below  you  a  narrow 
gorge,  cut  through  the  very  centre  of  high, 
wooded  hills;  in  the  bottom  of  this  a  river 
rapidly  flowing,  —  a  mere  ribbon  of  light  green 
or  blue  that  makes  no  sound,  yet  actually  seems 
to  quiver  as  it  runs,  and  which  flaunts  its  colors 
like  a  streamer  straightened  by  the  wind.  All 
this  directly  beneath  the  rock  on  which  you 
stand. 

Now  look  to  your  right.  Between  two  huge 
shoulders  of  rock  is  a  great  white  wall  as  light, 
and  seemingly  as  soft,  as  feathers.  At  its  crest 
is  a  strip  of  deep  sea-green ;  below,  pure  white, 
and  far  down  in  the  depths  of  the  canon,  a  rising 
cloud  of  mist  that  is  met  by  the  wind  and  blown 
from  rock  to  rock,  or,  touched  by  the  sunlight, 
becomes  an  arch  of  rainbow  hues.  It  is  the 
Great  Fall  of  the  Yellowstone,  —  higher  than 
Niagara,  higher  than  Shoshone,  higher  than  any 
fall  of  equal  volume  of  water  that  you  have  ever 
seen.  From  the  top  line  of  green  to  the  base  of 
that  ever-moving  cloud  of  spray,  the  distance  is 


244  SHOSHONE. 

three  hundred  and  ninety-seven  feet,  while  the 
width  of  the  great  white  sheet  is  less  than  one 
hundred. 

But  still  you  have  not  seen  all.  For  higher 
up  the  river  there  are  white-capped  rapids, 
making  wild  leaps  against  the  walls  that  shut 
them  in  on  either  side ;  and  beyond  them  is  the 
Upper  Fall,  not  so  high  as  the  one  below,  but 
just  as  white,  and  having  the  same  airy  graceful 
ness  and  its  veil  of  mist.  Recalling  the  Canon 
of  the  Yellowstone,  I  am  still  inclined  to  think 
it  an  enchanted  place ;  for  now,  as  then,  I  feel 
its  spell,  and  am  at  a  loss  for  words  to  picture  it. 
Artists  every  year  belie  its  glories,  and  only  one 
has  ever  caught  the  spirit  of  the  scene  and  car 
ried  away  the  true  colorings  of  cliffs  and  water 
and  trees.  Every  isolated  column  of  rock  in 
the  Canon  has  its  peculiar  hue,  —  its  yellow  or 
red,  its  slaty-blue  or  rich  dark-brown ;  and  as 
you  look  up  or  down  the  gorge  it  is  all  aflame, 
and  the  colorings  change  with  every  hour  of  the 
day.  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  Nature,  —  a  creation 
which  the  more  you  study,  the  more  you  will 
appreciate  and  enjoy.  We  fairly  revelled  in  its 
beauty,  testing  every  point  of  view,  climbing  the 
rocks  above  the  Falls,  and  working  our  way  to 


GEYSERS   OF  THE  YELLOWSTONE.         245 

the  level  of  the  river  itself.  At  noonday,  when 
the  reds  and  yellows  lost  their  softness  in  the 
glaring  light,  we  sought  the  shadow  of  the  pines, 
and  from  there  watched  the  river  take  its  fearless 
plunge.  But  earlier  and  later  we  lingered  at 
the  very  edge  of  the  Canon,  looking  down  upon 
the  nests  of  the  eagles  built  upon  many  of  the 
more  isolated  spires,  and  studying  the  brilliant, 
changing  lights  and  the  rich,  warm  shadows. 
We  forgot  the  dimensions,  so  conscientiously 
recorded  in  our  guide-books ;  forgot  all  com 
parisons.  It  was  enough  to  feel  that  what  we 
saw  was  more  beautiful  than  we  had  ever 
dreamed. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOMEWARD   BOUND. 

THE  Yellowstone  River  is  the  largest  and 
most  important  branch  of  the  Missouri. 
It  issues  from  Yellowstone  Lake,  and  has  a 
drainage  area  in  the  Park  of  nineteen  hundred 
square  miles.  From  its  source  to  the  Upper 
Falls  the  river  is  wide  and  sluggish.  From  its 
east  banks  rise  the  mountains  of  the  Yellowstone 
Range,  and  on  the  west  are  the  high  plateaux, 
known  as  Elephant's  Back,  and  the  Washburne 
Range.  About  a  mile  above  the  Upper  Fall 
begins  a  series  of  rapids  and  cascades,  and  at 
the  fall  the  river  contracts  to  a  width  of  less  than 
eighty  feet.  The  Lower  Fall  is  half  a  mile  below 
the  Upper.  The  Grand  Canon  begins  at  the 
Lower  Fall,  and  is  twenty-four  miles  long.  "  In 
deed,"  says  Mr.  Gannett,  in  his  contribution  to 
Dr.  Hayden's  report,  "  the  Yellowstone  is  in  a 
continuous  canon  from  the  Upper  Falls  to  the 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  247 

mouth  of  Gardiner's  River,  but  the  partial  break 
at  the  mouth  of  the  East  Fork  separates  it 
into  two  parts,  known  as  the  Grand  and  Third 
Canons.  The  former  occupies  the  line  of  great 
est  depression  in  a  volcanic  plateau,  which  slopes 
to  the  northward  and  southward  from  the  Wash- 
burne  Mountains,  and  to  the  westward  from 
the  Amethyst  Ridge  of  the  Yellowstone  Range. 
Its  course  is  northeast  as  far  as  the  Washburne 
group,  and  then  is  slightly  westward.  The 
height  of  the  plateau  at  the  falls  is  about  7,800 
feet.  At  the  head  of  the  Upper  Fall  the  river 
level  is  but  a  few  feet  below  the  top  of  the 
plateau.  This  fall  adds  112,  and  the  Lower  Fall 
300  feet  to  the  depth  of  the  chasm.  From  the 
foot  of  this  fall  to  the  mouth  of  the  East  Fork 
of  the  Yellowstone,  the  total  fall  is  1,304  feet  in 
twenty-four  miles,  an  average  of  54.3  feet  per 
mile.  As  far  as  the  extremity  of  the  Washburne 
Mountains,  a  distance  of  twelve  miles,  the  canon 
increases  its  depth  to  1,200  feet.  The  width  of 
the  canon  near  the  falls  is  from  one  fourth  of  a 
mile  to  a  mile,  and  the  angle  of  slope  of  the 
walls  from  the  top  to  the  water's  edge  ranges 
from  45°  to  75°,  with  a  horizontal  line." 

Mr.  W.  H.  Holmes,  discussing  the  geology  of 


248  SHOSHONE. 

the  Park  in  Dr.  Hayden's  report,  concludes  that 
the  canon  is  one  of  erosion  and  has  been  cut  by 
the  waters  of  the  Yellowstone  since  the  flow  of 
rhyolites,  and  probably  very  greatly  since  the 
conglomerate-forming  era.  The  lithologic  char 
acter  of  the  walls  is  most  interesting  and  ex 
traordinary.  The  formations  consist  of  igneous 
rocks,  and  include  a  great  variety  of  rhyolites 
and  pitchstones.  "  A  feature  of  the  walls  below 
the  falls,"  says  Mr  Holmes,  "  is  the  occurrence 
of  fragments  of  horizontal  strata  which  have 
been  built  into  irregular  recesses,  and  are  thus 
shielded  from  erosion.  They  are  generally 
coarse-grained  sandstones  or  conglomerates,  and 
resemble  the  lake  beds  found  on  the  upper  sur 
face  of  the  plateau."  At  the  falls  one  is  within 
the  borders  of  the  ancient  Yellowstone  Lake. 
The  walls  of  the  canon  between  the  two  cataracts 
are  capped  with  about  twenty  feet  of  horizon 
tally  bedded  sandstones,  under  which  are  thirty 
feet  of  sandy  clays.  Similar  outcroppings  are 
also  found  above  the  falls  and  in  Hayden  Val 
ley.  The  canon  walls  below  the  Lower  Fall,  at 
Promontory  Point,  are  all  white  or  gray  rhyolites 
stained  by  the  oxidization  of  minerals.  Below 
the  Point  the  walls  are  of  brown  or  gray  rhyo- 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  249 

lites,  which  weather  very  dark.  Here  occurs 
ithe  most  remarkable  instance  of  the  columnar 
structure,  which  is  so  noticeable  a  feature  of 
the  Canon.  "  The  joints  have  the  greatest  di 
versity  of  directions,  extending  in  great  sweep 
ing  curves  across  the  wall,  reaching  from  base 
to  summit  in  almost  straight  lines  or  arranged 
in  groups  set  at  all  angles  with  each  other." 
Minerals  and  hot  springs  have  given  a  great 
variety  of  colors  to  the  rain-sculptured  face  of 
the  cliffs,  and  every  hue  is  intensified  by  the 
dark-green  forests  that  cover  the  plateau  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  awful  chasm. 

There  is  probably  no  more  interesting  district 
in  the  world  than  that  of  the  Grand  Canon. 
You  cannot  exhaust  it  in  years.  Every  foot  of 
the  gorge  has  its  geologic  history  plainly  written 
on  the  cliffs,  and  the  mountains  and  minor 
canons  are  open  books  of  information.  One 
of  the  most  curious  of  the  many  phenomena 
is  found  on  the  steep  slopes  of  Amethyst 
Mountain,  a  high  ridge  on  the  East  Fork  of  the 
Yellowstone.  The  exposed  strata  there  is  filled 
with  the  petrified  remains  of  ancient  forests. 
At  a  height  of  five  hundred  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  river,  and  embedded  in  various  strata,  are 


250  SHOSHONE. 

prostrate  trunks  forty  and  fifty  feet  long,  and 
five  or  six  feet  in  diameter.  In  the  middle 
portion  of  the  mountain  face  "  rows  of  upright 
trunks  stand  out  on  the  ledges  like  the  columns 
of  a  ruined  temple."  In  many  cases  the  roots 
are  exposed,  and  may  be  seen  penetrating  the 
now  solid  rocks.  The  wood  is  often  perfectly 
preserved.  One  tree  particularly  noted  by  Mr. 
Holmes  was  covered  with  bark  four  inches  thick, 
and  retaining  its  original  deeply  lined  outer  sur 
face.  The  strata  inclosing  this  trunk  contained 
many  vegetable  remains,  —  branches,  rootlets, 
and  fruits;  and  one  stratum  of  sandstone  was 
filled  "with  a  great  variety  of  the  most  perfectly 
preserved  leaves."  In  many  instances  the  pet 
rified  wood  is  completely  opalized  or  agatized, 
and  its  cavities  are  filled  with  beautiful  crystals 
of  quartz  and  calcite.  "  The  silicifying  agents 
have  been  so  active  in  these  strata,"  writes  Mr. 
Holmes,  "  that  not  only  are  all  organic  remains 
thoroughly  silicified,  but  all  cavities  in  the 
loosely  bedded  rocks  and  all  fracture-lines  in 
the  strata  are  filled  with  chalcedony  or  other 
forms  of  quartz."  Fossil  trees  are  found  at  a 
height  of  three  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  river,  and  are  supposed  by  Mr.  Holmes  to 


CLIMBING   THE   TERRACES. 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  253 

exist  in  the  conglomerates  that  reach  and  form 
the  loftiest  summits  of  the  range. 

Slightly  to  the  northeast  of  the  Grand  Caiion 
is  the  Washburne  Range,  containing  twenty-five 
different  summits  ranging  in  height  from  9,000 
to  10,000  feet.  The  two  highest  peaks  are  Mount 
Washburne,  10,346  feet  above  sea-level,  and 
Dunraven's  Peak,  9,988  feet  high.  The  former 
is  quite  easy  of  access  from  the  falls.  The  trail 
extends  along  the  edge  of  the  Canon,  and  crossing 
the  mountains  continues  to  the  Hot  Springs  of 
Gardiner's  River.  Before  the  completion  of  the 
Government  road  the  Mount  Washburne  route 
was  the  only  one  by  which  the  Grand  Canon 
could  be  reached,  and  is  still  used  by  those 
making  the  tour  of  the  Park  on  horseback. 
The  view  from  the  peak  is  unequalled  for  extent 
and  variety.  The  broad  expanse  of  the  great 
central  plateau,  with  its  forests,  lakes,  and  deep 
winding  canon ;  the  distant  summits  of  the 
mountains  beyond  Yellowstone  Lake,  and  of 
those  surrounding  the  Park;  and  the  depres 
sions  containing  the  numerous  hot  springs  and 
rivers  are  all  within  the  range  of  one's  vision. 
One  cannot  begin  to  imagine  the  grandeur  of 
the  scene,  and  from  no  other  point  can  so  good 


254  SHOSHONE. 

an  idea  of  the  peculiar  topography  of  Wonder 
land  be  obtained. 

Coming  down  the  trail  up  which  we  were 
slowly  making  our  way  was  a  party  of  sight 
seers  who  had  come  from  across  the  Atlan 
tic  to  visit  our  National  Park.  All  that  great 
wealth  could  buy  was  at  their  command.  They 
had  ridden  for  many  miles,  and  visited  every 
prominent  section  of  the  region,  making  camp 
wherever  night  overtook  them,  and  seeing  the 
country  in  a  manner  that  few  Americans  ever 
take  the  trouble  to  imitate.  But  the  leader  of 
the  party  —  he  who  planned  the  journey  and  was 
now  the  most  enthusiastic  —  was  blind.  Rich,  and 
a  noble  of  England,  he  could  see  nothing  of 
the  beauty  around  him,  and  could  scarcely  dis 
tinguish  day  from  night.  Yet  here  he  was  de 
scribing  the  view  from  Mount  Washburne  and 
asking  countless  questions  about  the  Canon. 
No  one  would  have  imagined  his  infirmity. 
His  wide-open  eyes,  his  animated  manner,  his 
evident  enjoyment  of  the  places  to  which  he  was 
led,  stamped  him  as  an  enthusiast.  When  we 
were  told  that  he  was  blind,  the  pity  of  it  made 
our  hearts  grow  sick.  Ever  afterward,  I  am 
sure,  one  of  us  at  least  took  more  careful  note  of 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  255 

the  objects  around  him,  and  ceased  complaining 
at  trifles. 

The  one  other  attractive  feature  of  the  Park 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Grand  Canon  is 
the  Yellowstone  Lake,  famous  for  the  beauty  of 
its  shores  and  as  being  the  largest  body  of 
water,  of  equal  elevation,  in  North  America. 
Its  level  is  7,738  feet  above  the  sea,  and  in 
shape  it  resembles  a  huge  hand,  with  fingers 
and  thumb  outstretched.  Numerous  islands  are 
grouped  upon  its  placid,  deep-blue  surface,  and 
the  shores  are  heavily  fringed  with  dense  forests, 
from  out  of  which  at  certain  points  huge  shoul 
ders  of  detached  mountain  ranges  extend  to  the 
water's  edge  and  end  in  high,  abruptly  rising 
cliffs  with  serrated  summits.  The  lake  has  an 
area  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  square  miles,  and 
is  twenty  miles  long  by  fifteen  wide.  The  waters 
are  shallow,  and  their  intense  color  greatly  en 
hances  the  general  beauty  of  the  shores  and 
brilliant  reds  of  the  rocky  promontories.  Shore 
lines  are  indistinctly  marked  on  the  face  of  the 
cliffs,  and  the  surrounding  topography  is  such 
that  if  the  water  rose  but  two  hundred  feet  the 
lake  would  again  fill  its  ancient  bed  and  cover 
the  levels  now  so  dry  and  brown. 


256  SHOSHONE. 

But  the  days  were  now  so  short,  and  the  even 
ings  so  cool,  that  we  needed  no  suggestions  from 
the  hotel-keeper  to  realize  that,  like  poor  Jo, 
we  must  be  "  moving  on."  October  was  near  at 
hand.  Before  us  were  still  many  miles  of  travel, 
and  there  was  much  of  interest  to  see. 

So,  after  a  last  visit  to  the  Canon,  and  a  part 
ing  look  at  its  beautiful  walls  flushed  by  the 
early  light,  we  drove  over  the  hills  and  through 
long  stretches  of  forest  to  Norris  Basin  and 
from  there  to  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs.  At 
the  latter  place  were  to  be  made  our  adieus  to 
the  Park,  and  the  drive  was  our  last  with  that 
knight  of  the  front  seat  who  had  guided  us 
ever  since  beginning  our  journey  at  Beaver 
Canon.  There  was  little  of  interest  on  the  road 
to  the  Norris  Basin.  For  a  moment  a  glimpse  was 
had  of  the  Yellowstone  River,  winding  through 
Hayden  Valley  and  then  losing  itself  in  the 
depths  of  its  Canon;  and  later  we  passed  a 
series  of  cascades,  the  water  falling  over  sloping 
ledges  and  looking  very  white  and  beautiful 
against  the  background  of  green  pines  and 
dark  rocks.  At  Norris  there  were  more  geysers 
and  hot  springs  and  pink-rimmed  pools.  We 
visited  them  all,  as  in  duty  bound,  but  were 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  257 

glad  to  leave  their  noisy  spouting  for  the  fresh 
ness  of  the  valley  that  leads  northward  to  the 
Gardiner  River  district  and  its  famous  Hot 
Springs.  At  times  we  were  tempted  to  forget 
the  lateness  of  the  season  and  linger  in  the 
region  that,  even  to  our  satiated  eyes,  was  not 
without  its  interest.  But  the  driver,  at  last,  lost 
all  patience  and  urged  us  on.  Behind  us,  he 
said,  was  all  that  he  cared  anything  about,  and 
all,  he  guessed,  that  we  would  enjoy  seeing. 

The  Norris  Geyser  Basin  has  an  area  of  about 
six  square  miles,  and  an  elevation  of  7,257  feet 
above  sea-level.  It  lies  in  a  depression  of  the 
plateau  uplands,  and  is  near  the  head-waters  of 
Gibbon  River,  a  tributary  of  the  Madison  named 
by  Dr.  Hayden  in  1872  in  honor  of  General 
John  Gibbon,  who  first  explored  its  narrow 
valley.  The  several  springs  and  geysers  were 
discovered  by  Mr.  P.  W.  Norris,  then  the  Gov 
ernment  Director  of  the  Park,  who  built  a  wagon 
road  to  them  from  the  Hot  Springs.  The  Basin 
contains  no  extensive  deposits,  and  its  phe 
nomena  are  all  of  recent  origin,  —  a  fact  which 
renders  the  little  valley  particularly  interesting 
to  geologists  studying  the  history  of  the  thermal 
springs  in  the  Park.  The  Norris  Mud  Springs 
17 


258  SHOSHONE. 

cover  large  areas,  and  are  remarkable  for  the 
variety  and  brilliancy  of  their  coloring. 

I  think  one  can  gain  no  better  idea  of  the 
strange  configuration  of  the  Yellowstone  Park 
than  from  the  low  water-shed  which  stretches 
across  the  valley  a  little  north  of  the  Norris 
Basin.  For  there,  on  the  one  side,  the  waters 
flow  south  to  the  Madison,  and  on  the  other 
north  to  the  Yellowstone.  Apparently  they  are 
lost  to  each  other  forever,  and  yet,  eventually, 
both  join  the  Missouri,  the  one  taking  a  straight 
course  to  that  great  river,  the  other  making  a 
long  detour  and  flowing  many  miles.  On  leav 
ing  the  Basin  we  crossed  the  divide,  and  drove 
nearly  due  north  through  a  wooded  valley  en 
closed  by  low  ranges  and  containing  a  profusion 
of  long  shallow  lakes  and  steaming  hot  springs. 
The  waters  are  strongly  impregnated  with  lime 
and  sulphur,  but  occasionally  there  are  springs 
of  delicious  freshness.  The  territory  surround 
ing,  the  latter  is  favorite  camping  ground,  and  is 
rarely  without  its  visitors. 

Just  before  leaving  the  narrower  part  of  the 
valley  the  road  closely  follows  Obsidian  Creek, 
a  branch  of  the  Gardiner,  and  passes  the  base 
of  the  Obsidian  Cliffs,  nearly  two  hundred  feet 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.        \  259 

high,  and  composed  of  black  obsidian  rock 
arranged  in  pentagonal  columns  that  are  per 
fectly  cut  and  glisten  in  the  sunlight.  The 
road-bed  is  made  of  the  glass-like  compound, 
and  the  towering  promontory  is  followed  for 
half  a  mile.  In  examining  the  cliffs  Mr.  Holmes 
found  a  narrow  trail  that  passed  along  the  brink 
of  the  ledge,  and  descended  the  broken  cliffs  to 
the  valley  above  and  below.  In  its  near  vicinity 
were  innumerable  Indian  implements,  showing 
that  at  some  time  in  the  far-away  past  the  cliffs 
were  the  source  of  extensive  supplies  of  what 
ever  is  fashioned  from  the  hard,  keen-edged 
material.  Piles  of  arrow-heads  and  curious 
utensils  still  exist,  and  the  ground  is  covered 
with  the  flint-like  bits  which  have  been  chipped 
from  the  hard  black  walls. 

From  the  region  of  lakes  and  forests  we 
passed  into  a  broader  portion  of  the  valley, 
keeping  within  sight  of  winding  streams  and 
having  an  extended  view  of  the  mountains,  that 
now  appeared  impenetrable  barriers  to  our  fur 
ther  progress  northward.  The  range  they  form 
was,  in  fact,  a  stern  old  landmark  at  one  time, 
and  for  years  held  in  seclusion  the  country  of 
which  it  is  the  northern  wall.  At  present,  how- 


26O  SHOSHONE, 

ever,  Government  has  built  a  well-graded  road 
through  one  of  the  natural  canons  called  King- 
man's  Pass,  and  the  ancient  breastwork  is  scaled 
with  greatest  ease.  The  scenery  of  the  Pass 
is  often  grand,  and  its  walls  rise  high  above  the 
road.  The  hills  through  which  it  cuts  its  way 
are  brown  and  treeless,  and  at  their  base  flows 
one  of  the  forks  of  the  Gardiner, 

Beyond  the  Golden  Gate,  as  the  narrow  pas 
sage  leading  to  the  Pass  is  called,  is  an  area  of 
dead  forests.  Coming  upon  the  dead  and  fire- 
blackened  trees,  we  were  quite  willing  to  believe 
that  the  driver  had  told  the  truth  when  he  said 
that  we  had  seen  the  best  of  the  Yellowstone 
There  was  a  startling  contrast  between  the  gen 
eral  dryness  of  the  basin  we  had  now  entered 
and  the  green  freshness  of  those  farther  south, 
and  even  the  warm  coloring  of  the  mountains 
that  form  the  Gateway  failed  to  awaken  the 
interest  that  had  been  so  satisfied  by  the  Grand 
Canon.  One  cannot  help  having  the  keenest 
enjoyment  when  making  the  grand  tour  of  the 
far  West;  but  there  are  times,  I  must  confess, 
when  a  mountain,  be  it  ever  so  beautiful,  fails 
to  awaken  one's  enthusiasm.  But  I  have  seen 
the  time  when  a  cathedral  was  just  as  tiresome, 


HOMEWARD    BOUND.  26 1 

and  I  know  very  well  that  there  were  days  when 
the  Louvre  or  the  Pitti  Palace  failed  to  interest 
me. 

The  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  are  a  famous  fea 
ture  of  the  National  Park.  Many  are  so  satisfied 
with  their  novel  formation  that  they  crave  noth 
ing  stranger.  Only  in  Asia  Minor  is  their  equal 
to  be  found.  They  cover  an  area  of  nearly 
three  square  miles,  and  extend  back  from  the 
Gardiner  River  over  two  miles.  In  the  mys 
terious  past  the  valley  which  they  occupy  did 
not  exist.  The  country  was  a  vast  level  of 
rhyolites,  through  which  in  time  the  river  wore 
its  way,  the  springs  sinking  with  it  until  now 
they  issue  from  the  hillside  a  thousand  feet 
below  their  former  level.  From  the  top  of  the 
great  white  terrace  which  the  waters  have 
formed,  and  the  basins  of  which  it  still  fills  and 
overflows,  one  can  see  the  crest  of  the  old  rhyo- 
lite  plateau ;  and  on  the  sides  of  Mount  Evarts, 
the  highest  elevation  near  the  river,  the  geolo 
gists  trace  the  successive  strata  by  which  the 
story  of  the  great  erosion  is  told. 

The  immediate  surroundings  of  the  Hot 
Springs  formations  are  limited  by  hills  mostly 
brown  and  bare.  Here  and  there  are  patches 


262 


SHOSHONE. 


of  forest,   enclosing  the   crumbling  terraces   of 
springs  that  have  long  since  ceased  to  flow;   and 


THE   HOT   SPRINGS   TERRACE. 

in  'the  canon  of  the  Gar 
diner  are  areas  of  green 
sward  kept  moist  by  the 
spray  that  falls  upon  them 
from  the  foaming  cataracts 
of  the  river.  As  a  rule 
the  valley  or  basin  is  void  of  beauty;  but  when 
one  looks  upon  the  high  white  mound,  with  its 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  263 

natural  stairway  of  delicately  formed  basins  of 
many  colors,  he  forgets  the  general  dreariness 
of  the  region  and  finds  a  fascinating  interest  in 
the  great  terrace  which  has  been  slowly  gain 
ing  in  dimensions  these  many  thousands  of 
years.  All  other  formations  sink  into  insig 
nificance  when  compared  with  the  Hot  Springs 
Terrace.  Its  great  height  and  extent,  the  beau 
tiful  and  varied  color  of  the  water  filling  the 
basins,  the  illustration  it  affords  of  the  action  of 
thermal  springs,  the  variety  and  form  of  the  cal 
careous  deposit, — cause  one  to  forget  the  glare 
of  the  sunlight  and  the  heat  of  the  day.  Stand 
ing  on  the  top  of  the  mound,  white  as  snow,  you 
are  surrounded  by  rising  clouds  of  steam,  and 
your  feet  grow  hot  from  the  great  heat  beneath. 
Springs  are  everywhere,  some  boiling  fast  and 
others  slowly,  and  winding  streams  of  water 
course  through  narrow  channels  and  fall  like  a 
veil  over  the  sculptured  fronts  of  the  basins. 
Wherever  the  springs  have  ceased  to  flow  the 
deposit  is  dry  and  crumbling.  But  the  walls  of 
the  basins,  still  full  to  overflowing,  have  edges 
colored  with  the  hues  of  the  rainbow.  There 
are  the  palest  pinks  and  blues,  the  deepest  reds, 
browns,  and  yellows.  "  One  can  look  down 


264  SHOSHONE. 

into  the  clear  depths,"  says  Dr.  Hayden,  "  and 
see  with  perfect  distinctness  the  minutest  orna 
ment  on  the  inner  sides  of  the  basins ;  and  the 
exquisite  beauty  of  the  coloring  and  the  variety 
of  forms  baffle  any  attempt  to  portray  them, 
either  with  pen  or  pencil." 

Thermal  springs,  as  those  are  called  whose 
mean  annual  temperature  exceeds  that  of  the 
locality  in  which  they  are  found,  are  distributed 
at  random  over  the  entire  world.  In  New  Zea 
land  and  Mexico,  in  South  America  and  Europe, 
in  Asia,  Africa,  and  America,  they  find  their 
way  to  the  earth's  surface  no  matter  how  high 
or  how  low  the  elevation.  In  India  thermal 
springs  exist  at  an  altitude  of  sixteen  thousand 
feet ;  in  France  and  Germany  they  are  less  than 
a  thousand  feet  above  the  ocean  level.  Latitude 
does  not  affect  them.  Their  temperature  is  as 
great  in  the  Arctic  circles  as  under  the  equator. 
The  reputation  of  their  waters  for  medicinal  and 
bathing  purposes  was  known  to  the  ancients  as 
well  as  to  ourselves.  Pliny  discusses  and  the 
Romans  erected  temples  over  them.  The  baths 
of  Diocletian  were  famous  for  the  statuary  with 
which  they  were  •  adorned ;  and  Italy  to-day 
shows  many  a  ruin  of  the  gorgeously  decorated 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  265 

buildings  where  the  rich  and  the  poor  used  to 
gather  to  bathe  in  the  healing  waters.  In  the 
Yellowstone  Park  more  than  three  thousand  of 
these  springs  —  whose  temperature  must  exceed 
that  of  75°  F.  —  have  been  named;  and  I  know 
of  no  more  interesting  reading  than  that  found 
in  the  report  of  the  Government  Geologists, 
who  have  visited  and  studied  them.  I  have  but 
slightly  mentioned  their  more  apparent  charac 
teristics.  To  do  more  would  have  required  vol 
umes.  But  he  who  would  enjoy  to  the  utmost 
the  spectacle  presented  by  the  Mammoth  Hot 
Springs,  which  are  strictly  thermal  and  whose 
deposits  are  calcareous  rather  than  silicious, 
should  not  only  read  the  exhaustive  reports  of 
Dr.  Peale,  but  should  visit  the  geysers  and  boil 
ing  pools  and  notice  the  nature  of  their  deposits. 
Only  by  so  doing  can  the  peculiar  formations  of 
the  Mammoth  Springs  be  understood.  They 
are  peculiar  to  themselves,  with  only  one  coun 
terpart,  and  that  a  small  one  in  the  Park,  and 
with  but  few  equals  in  the  world.  Countless 
ages  have  passed  since  the  waters  first  began 
their  laborious,  patient  work  of  building  ter 
race  upon  terrace  of  white-walled  basins.  Inch 
by  inch,  less  than  one  sixtieth  of  an  inch  a  day, 


266  SHOSHONE. 

the  present  terrace  has  been  formed;  and  now 
the  main  deposit  is  more  than  two  hundred  feet 
high  and  three  hundred  yards  wide.  To  find 
another  so  large  a  sedimentary  deposit  one  must 
visit  Italy  or  Algiers,  Peru,  India,  or  Hungary. 
The  deposits  at  the  baths  of  San  Vignone,  Italy, 
have  a  thickness  of  250  feet,  and  at  San  Fillipo, 
near  Rome,  strata  of  328  feet  thickness  are 
found.  "  In  1604,"  says  Dr.  Peale,  "Father 
Joseph  de  Acosta  describes  the  springs  of 
Huanvelica,  Peru,  as  depositing  stones  of  which 
houses  are  built.  St.  Peter's  and  all  the  prin 
cipal  buildings  of  Rome  are  constructed  of 
travertine  (or  calcareous  tufa)  ;  and  at  Hiera- 
polis  the  deposit  rises  one  hundred  feet  above 
the  plain  and  has  a  width  of  six  hundred  feet, 
and  upon  this  the  city  stands." 

The  main  cause  of  the  formations,  both  sili- 
cious  and  calcareous,  is  the  evaporation  of  water 
containing  carbonates  and  silica.  Calcareous 
waters  also  deposit  by  simply  cooling  or  losing 
carbonic  acid  upon  coming  to  the  surface.  Sili- 
cious  formations  are  found  at  all  geysers  and 
boiling  springs.  The  deposit  grows  slowly  and 
has  an  infinite  variety  of  forms.  It  is  often 
transparent,  and  may  be  seen  in  many  places 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  267 

covering  the  autographs  of  the  early  visitors  to 
the  Park,  who  delighted  to  write  their  names  on 
the  rims  of  the  springs.  Inscriptions  in  pencil 
soon  become  indelible,  but  are  perfectly  legible 
beneath  the  varnish-like  coating  of  silica.  Wher 
ever  calcareous  springs  are  seen,  the  deposits 
assume  certain  forms,  one  of  the  most  constant 
being  that  of  the  bath-like  basins  arranged  in 
terraces  so  characteristic  of  the  Mammoth 
Springs.  These  same  forms  are  seen  at  Hi- 
erapolis,  in  Asia  Minor,  and  in  fact  wherever 
springs  exist  that  contain  a  large  percentage  of 
calcium  carbonate.  Dr.  Peale  says  it  is  not 
necessary  that  the  water  should  be  hot,  and  in 
stances  the  cavern  of  Luray  in  West  Virginia. 
The  recent  deposits  and  those  on  which  the 
active  springs  are  found  at  the  Mammoth 
Springs,  occupy  about  one  hundred  and  seventy 
acres.  There  are  fifty-two  different  springs  de 
scribed  by  Dr.  Peale,  which  vary  in  temperature 
from  63°  to  165°  F.  Each  has  its  peculiarly 
sculptured  basin  and  color,  and  to  mention  the 
characteristics  of  each  would  require  many  more 
pages  than  are  at  my  disposal.  Spring  num 
bered  17  by  Dr.  Peale  has  a  beautiful  marble- 
like  basin  filled  with  light-blue  waters,  on  which 


268  S  HO  SI  I  ONE. 

float  masses  of  red-tinged  lime  carbonates ;  an 
other  has  a  reddish  rim  to  its  basin  and  contains 
long,  silky  filaments  of  light  yellow.  The  basin 
of  the  Cleopatra  Spring  is  forty  feet  high,  and 
covers  an  area  of  three  fourths  of  an  acre.  The 
inner  walls  are  of  pearly  whiteness  with  reddish 
edges,  and  the  waters  are  blue.  Some  of  the 
channels  through  which  the  overflow  passes  are 
bright  green  or  crimson.  The  hues  are  be 
wildering  at  times,  and  are  always  intensified 
by  the  general  whiteness  of  the  high,  broken 
mound.  The  older  deposits,  now  dry  and 
crumbling,  are  not  far  from  the  main  terrace. 
Their  walls  are  grayish  white,  and  one  of  the 
formations  is  overgrown  with  forests.  The  high 
est  living  spring  is  one  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  Gardiner. 

Here  and  there,  scattered  over  the  main  ter 
race,  are  curiously  fashioned  caves  with  narrow 
entrances  guarded  by  dripping  waters.  Within 
these  shaded  recesses  the  walls  are  like  the  inside 
of  the  sea-shells.  You  can  hear  the  loud  mur 
muring  of  hidden  springs,  and  around  you  are 
quaintly  carved  stalactites  and  stalagmites.  To 
the  right  of  Cupid's  Cave,  as  one  of  these 
grottos  is  named,  is  a  walk  that  extends  from 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  269 

the  terraces  to  Orange  Geyser.  The  path  leads 
through  a  grove  of  pines,  among  which  are 
seen  the  pure  white  walls  of  the  old  deposits. 
The  shade  is  most  welcome  after  the  trying 
glare  of  the  place  you  have  left,  and  the  gey 
ser,  sputtering  itself  hoarse,  is  an  odd  little 
creation  which  we  never  tired  visiting.  Its  cone 
is  a  low,  round  hill,  as  yellow  as  an  orange,  and 
not  more  than  ten  feet  high.  On  its  top  is  the 
geyser,  —  a  tiny,  spouting  fountain  that  gur 
gles  and  splashes  all  day  long.  Its  little  basin 
was  filled  to  overflowing,  but  the  activity  of  the 
diminutive  geyser  never  ceased,  and  the  cone 
was  dripping  wet  with  its  waters.  I  doubt  if  we 
ever  enjoyed  a  geyser  so  thoroughly  as  we  did 
this  one.  The  coloring  of  its  cone  was  very 
rich  and  mellow,  and  made  all  the  more  pro 
nounced  by  the  surrounding  green  of  the  forests. 
The  place,  too,  was  delightfully  fresh  and  cool 
and  quiet,  and  the  noise  that  the  baby  fountain 
made  filled  the  air  with  a  delicious  murmur, 
such  as  one  hears  when  the  waves  are  softly 
rolling  in  upon  the  sea-sands. 

Just  to  the  left  of  the  main  terrace  is  a 
rounded  knoll,  thickly  overgrown  with  trees 
long  ago  killed  by  the  white  walls  that  sur- 


2/0  SHOSHONE. 

round  them.  From  here  was  had  our  best 
view  of  the  Gardiner  River  basin.  Below  us 
stood  the  weather-beaten  buildings  that  serve 
as  headquarters  for  the  military  forces  in  the 
Park,  and  into  the  distance  stretched  the  val 
ley,  dotted  here  and  there  with  little  columns 
of  vapor  that  marked  the  spot  of  a  hot  spring. 
Looking  far  away  to  the  great  outer  walls  of 
mountains,  we  were  lost,  for  a  moment,  to  pres 
ent  surroundings,  and  again  were  driving  along 
the  by-ways  of  the  silent  hills.  Then,  suddenly 
realizing  the  duties  of  the  hour,  we  turned  away 
and  once  more  gave  attention  to  the  steaming 
basins  and  the  ever-flowing  waters.  The  day 
was  our  last  in  the  Park.  On  the  morrow  we 
should  say  farewell  to  its  many  wonders,  and 
be  speeding  eastward  to  the  civilization  from 
which  we  had  so  long  been  absent. 

Much  had  been  learned  during  our  wandering 
pilgrimage ;  and  much,  no  doubt,  would  be  for 
gotten.  But  I  am  sure  now,  as  I  was  then,  that 
among  the  unforgotten  will  be  the  idle  days 
when  we  drove  through  fields  both  new  and 
strange  and  beautiful.  They  will  be  remem 
bered  forever,  comforting  and  amusing  when, 
for  the  time,  we  throw  off  the  cares  of  a  busy 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  2/1 

life  and  look  backward  to  the  fading  past. 
The  trials  we  encountered  and  the  annoyances 
we  had  to  undergo  will  not  seem  so  great  in 
after  years  as  they  did  at  the  time.  We  shall 
smile  at  them,  I  fancy,  and  wonder  how  they 
ever  troubled  us.  Days  with  Nature  are  red- 
letter  days,  if  we  but  knew  it.  For  none  can 
paint  and  plan  and  fashion  so  well  as  she.;  and 
none,  I  think,  can  amuse  us  half  so  cleverly. 

From  the  Hot  Springs  to  Cinnabar,  a  town  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  Park,  and  at  which  one  again 
meets  a  railroad,  the  route  is  down  the  Valley  of 
the  Gardiner  as  far  as  the  point  at  which  that 
river  joins  the  Yellowstone.  Thence  the  west 
bank  of  the  larger  stream  is  followed  to  the  vil 
lage,  where  farewells  to  Wonderland  are  said. 

From  here  the  valley  turns  due  north,  and 
down  its  centre  flows  the  Yellowstone.  On  each 
side  are  high  ranges  whose  abruptly  rising 
fronts  and  tops  are  crowned  with  forests.  At 
the  base  of  the  west  range  extends  a  branch  of 
the  Northern  Pacific  Railroad,  which  connects 
Cinnabar  with  the  main  line  at  Livingston.  It 
was  built  for  the  accommodation  of  visitors  to  the 
Park,  and  has  a  most  picturesque  entrance  to 
the  very  borders  of  Wonderland.  The  valley 


2/2  SHOSHONE. 

continually  narrows  and  contracts.  Here  the 
cliffs  leave  scarcely  room  for  the  road  to  find  a 
foothold,  and  again  recede  from  the  river  and 
leave  open  fields  covered  with  grasses  and 
dotted  with  cattle  and  small  farms.  From  Liv 
ingston  the  view  southward  toward  the  great 
Gallatin  and  Yellowstone  Ranges  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  in  the  West.  The  way  seems 
choked  with  mountains,  and  the  tall  white  peaks 
give  the  higher  levels  the  appearance  of  belong 
ing  to  the  Arctic  Circle. 

It  is  a  most  interesting  ride  from  Livingston 
to  St.  Paul,  and  were  one  to  go  westward  a  few 
miles  from  the  little  town  that  stands  at  the 
gateway  to  the  Park,  he  would  find  the  three 
rivers  which  form  the  Missouri.  The  railroad 
crosses  their  meeting-point,  and  the  place  is 
made  memorable  by  the  exploits  of  Lewis  and 
Clarke.  Our  old  friend  the  Madison  ends  its 
journey  there,  and  you  can  see  it  winding  down 
the  valley  and  boisterously  joining  its  com 
panions.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  lateness  of 
the  season  we  would  have  gone  still  farther 
westward  to  Helena;  for  having  had  a  taste  of 
the  Rockies  we  were  disinclined  to  leave  them, 
and  Helena,  we  knew,  rested  in  their  very  lap. 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  2/3 

There  is  much  historical  interest  connected  with 
the  country  tributary  to  the  Northern  Pacific. 
The  road  follows  the  general  course  of  at  least 
three  famous  explorers,  and  in  the  valley  of  the 
Yellowstone,  which  it  traverses  for  nearly  three 
hundred  miles,  were  fought  some  of  the  fiercest 
Indian  battles  that  were  ever  waged  in  the  West. 
The  earliest  explorer  to  seek  the  head-waters  of 
the  Missouri  was  the  Chevalier  de  la  Verendrye, 
who  in  1743  followed  the  Missouri  to  within 
sight  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  there  buried 
a  plate  of  lead  graven  with  the  royal  arms  of 
France.  In  a  lately  published  paper  regarding 
this  early  pathfinder  Francis  Parkman  gives  a 
most  interesting  account  of  his  journey  and  life 
among  the  Indians.  "  Sixty-two  years  later," 
writes  Mr.  Parkman,  "when  the  vast  western 
regions  then  called  Louisiana  had  just  been 
ceded  to  the  United  States,  Captains  Lewis  and 
Clarke  traced  the  Missouri  to  the  mountains, 
penetrated  the  wastes  beyond,  and  made  their 
way  to  the  Pacific.  The  first  stages  of  that  re 
markable  exploration  were  anticipated  by  the 
brothers  La  Verendrye.  They  did  not  find  the 
Pacific,  but  they  discovered  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains,  or  at  least  that  part  of  them  to  which  the 
18 


274  SHOSHONE. 

name  properly  belongs."  On  a  tall  pillar  of 
stone  standing  near  the  road  east  of  Livingston 
Lewis  and  Clarke  engraved  their  names  in  1806. 
The  letters  still  remain,  and  seeing  them  one 
recalls  the  great  journey  of  the  two  men,  and  is 
filled  with  admiration  at  their  bravery  in  going 
forth  into  the  then  unknown  world. 

Of  those  who  have  but  lately  given  the  North 
west  its  history  are  the  officers  and  men  who 
camped  along  the  valley  of  the  Yellowstone, 
and  made  safe  the  way  of  the  settlers  who  are 
now  rapidly  crowding  into  the  country  and 
transforming  its  wastes  into  regions  of  great 
productiveness.  Not  far  away  from  the  line  of 
the  road  the  genial,  brave-hearted  Custer  lost 
his  life,  valiantly  fighting  against  overwhelming 
odds ;  and  in  dozens  of  localities  you  will  have 
pointed  out  the  scene  of  some  famous  battle 
with  the  Indians,  who  once  fiercely  disputed  the 
advancement  of  civilization.  Peace  reigns  to 
day;  but  to  gain  this  happy  condition  of  affairs 
many  lives  were  sacrificed. 

Thus,  through  scenes  of  historic  interest,  and 
having,  too,  their  natural  beauties  of  plain  and 
mountain,  of  river  and  strange  formations,  we 
journeyed  toward  St.  Paul.  The  summer  of 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  275 

idle  outing,  of  novel  experiences,  had  passed. 
Every  day  brought  us  nearer  the  completion  of 
our  great  circle  of  travel.  From  the  Missouri 
we  had  reached  and  crossed  the  Rockies ;  now 
we  had  crossed  them  once  again,  and  again  at 
the  side  of  the  Missouri,  grown  deep  and  muddy 
and  far  less  beautiful  than  when  we  had  seen  it 
at  its  source,  we  ended  our  holiday. 


THE    END. 


BY   AMELIE    EIYES. 

A  BROTHER  TO  DRAGONS,  AND  OTHER  OLD-TIME 
TALES.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Extra,  $1  00. 

VIRGINIA    OF    VIRGINIA.      A  Story.     Illustrated. 
Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Extra,  $1  00. 


One  is  permitted  to  discover  qualities  of  mind  and  a  proficiency  and 
capacity  in  art  from  which  something  new  and  distinctively  the  work 
of  genius  may  be  anticipated  in  American  literature. — Boston  Globe. 

Miss  Rives  has  imagination,  breadth,  and  a  daring  and  courage 
ofcenest  spoken  of  as  masculine.  Moreover,  she  is  exquisitely  poet 
ical,  and  her  ideals,  with  all  the  mishaps  of  her  delineations,  are  of  an 
exalted  order N.  Y.  Star. 

It  was  little  more  than  two  years  ago  that  Miss  Rives  made  her  first 
literary  conquest,  a  conquest  so  complete  and  astonishing  as  at  once 
to  give  her  fame.  How  well  she  has  sustained  and  added  to  the  repu 
tation  she  so  suddenly  won,  we  all  know,  and  the  permanency  of  that 
reputation  demonstrates  conclusively  that  her  success  did  not  depend 
upon  the  lucky  striking  of  a  popular  fancy,  but  that  it  rests  upon  en 
during  qualities  that  are  developing  more  and  more  richly  year  by 
year.  —Richmond  State. 

It  is  evident  that  the  author  has  imagination  in  an  unusual  degree, 
much  strength  of  expression,  and  skill  in  delineating  character.— Bos 
ton  Journal. 

There  are  few  young  writers  who  begin  a  promising  career  with  so 
much  spontaneity  and  charm  of  expression  as  is  displayed  by  Miss 
Rives. — Literary  World,  Boston. 

The  trait  which  the  author  seems  to  take  the  most  pleasure  in  de 
picting  is  the  passionate  loyalty  of  a  girl  to  her  lover  or  of  a  young 
•wife  to  her  husband,  and  her  portrayal  of  this  trait  has  feeling,  and  is 
set  off  by  an  unconventional  style  and  brisk  movement.— The  Book 
Buyer,  N.  Y. 

There  is  such  a  wealth  of  imagination,  such  an  exuberance  of  strik 
ing  language  in  the  productions  of  this  author,  as  to  attract  and  hold 
the  reader. — Toledo  Blade. 

Miss  Rives  is  essentially  a  teller  of  love  stories,  and  relates  them 
with  such  simple,  straightforward  grace  that  she  at  once  captures  the 
sympathy  and  interest  of  the  reader.  .  .  .  There  is  a  freshness  of  leeling 
and  a  mingling  of  pathos  and  humor  which  are  simply  delicious. — New 
London  Telegraph. 

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BY  CONSTANCE  F.  WOOLSON. 

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There  is  a  certain  bright  cheerfulness  in  Miss  Woolson's  writing 
which  invests  all  her  characters  with  lovable  qualities. — Jewish  Advo 
cate,  N.  Y. 

Miss  Woolson  is  among  our  few  successful  writers  of  interesting 
magazine  stories,  and  her  skill  and  power  are  perceptible  in  the  de 
lineation  of  her  heroines  no  less  than  in  the  suggestive  pictures  of 
local  life. — Jewish  Messenger,  N.  Y. 

Constance  Femmore  Woolsou  may  easily  become  the  novelist 
laureate. — Boston  Globe. 

Miss  Woolson  has  a  graceful  fancy,  a  ready  wit,  a  polished  style,  and 
conspicuous  dramatic  power ;  while  her  skill  in  the  development  of  a 
story  is  very  remarkable. — London  Life. 

Miss  Woolsou  never  once  follows  the  beaten  track  of  the  orthodox 
novelist,  but  strikes  a  new  and  richly  loaded  vein,  which  so  far  is  all 
her  own  ;  and  thus  we  feel,  on  reading  one  of  her  works,  a  fresh  sen 
sation,  and  we  put  down  the  book  with  a  sigh  to  think  our  pleasant 
task  of  reading  it  is  finished.  The  author's  lines  must  have  fallen  to 
her  in  very  pleasant  places ;  or  she  has,  perhaps,  within  herself  the 
wealth  of  womanly  love  and  tenderness  she  pours  so  freely  into  all 
she  writes.  Such  books  as  hers  do  much  to  elevate  the  moral  tone  of 
the  day— a  quality  sadly  wanting  in  novels  of  the  time.— Whitehall 
Review,  London. 


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BY  W.  13.  HOWELLS. 

MODERN  ITALIAN  POETS.    Essays  and  Poets.    With 
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A  portfolio  of  delightsome  studies  among  the  Italian  poets ;  musings 
in  a  golden  granary  full  to  the  brim  with  good  things.  .  .  .  We  ven 
ture  to  say  that  no  acute  and  penetrating  critic  surpasses  Mr.  Howells 
in  true  insight,  in  polished  irony,  in  effective  and  yet  graceful  treat 
ment  of  his  theme,  in  that  light  and  indescribable  touch  that  lifts  you 
over  a  whole  sea  of  froth  and  foam,  and  fixes  your  eye,  not  on  the 
froth  and  foam,  but  on  the  solid  objects,  the  true  heart  and  soul  of  the 
theme. — Critic,  N.  Y. 

A  more  companionable,  entertaining,  stimulating  work  than  thia 
book  has  not  been  printed  for  many  a  day.  It  is  a  book  to  be  stud 
ied  privately,  to  be  read  aloud,  to  be  cherished  and  quoted  and  re 
read  many  times,  and  every  reader  of  it  will  cry  for  more  translations 
from  the  Italian  by  the  same  delight-conferring  pen. — Chicago  Tribune. 

This  is  a  noble  volume,  the  fruit  of  studies  began  twenty  y«ars  ago 
in  Italy.  .  .  .  The  subject  is  discussed  with  all  the  rare  fascination  pi 
style  and  thought  which  Mr.  Howells  is  so  well  qualified  to  bring  to  it, 
and  the  volume  will  be  treasured  by  every  lover  of  poetry  of  whatever 
period  or  clime.—  Christian  at  Work,  N.  Y. 

No  living  writer  could  give  us  this  picture  of  a  literary  movement 
with  such  "delicacy  of  appreciation  and  discrimination.  The  period 
embraced  is  about  a  century;  the  names  selected  comprise  all  the 
poets  which  a  survey  of  the  movement,  now  over,  distinguishes  as 
principal  factors  in  it" — Hartford  Courant. 

In  culture,  the  critical  power,  and  in  literary  art  these  essays  pos 
sess  qualities  reached  by  no  American,  and  made  more  brilliant  and 
pleasing  by  no  foreign  essayist. — Boston  Globe. 


"April  Hopes"  is  a  specimen  of  Mr.  Howells's  well-known  consum 
mate  art  as  a  delineator  of  young  men  and  maidens,  and  a  chronicler 
of  all  the  fluctuations  of  love  affairs.  From  the  life-like  description  ol 
Harvard  Class  Day  and  its  participants,  in  the  opening  chapters,  to  the 
conclusion  of  the  story,  Mr.  Howells  is  at  his  best.— A".  Y.  Journal  oj 
Commerce. 

Mr.  Howells  never  wrote  a  more  bewitching  book.  It  is  useless  to 
deny  the  rarity  and  worth  of  the  skill  that  can  report  so  perfectly  and 
with  such  exquisite  humor  all  the  fugacious  and  manifold  emotions  of 
the  modern  maiden  and  her  lover. — Philadelphia  Press. 


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SEBASTOPOL. 

By  Count  LEO  TOLSTOL  Translated  by  F.  D.  MILLET 
from  the  French  (Scenes  du  Siege  de  Sebastopol}.  With 
Introduction  by  W.  D.  HOWELLS.  With  Portrait. 
16mo,  Cloth,  75  cents. 


In  his  Sebastopol  sketches  Tolstoi  is  at  his  best,  and  perhaps  no 
more  striking  example  of  his  manner  and  form  can  be  found.— N.  Y. 
Tribune. 

There  is  much  strong  writing  in  the  book ;  indeed,  it  is  strength 
itself,  and  there  is  much  tenderness  as  well.— Boston  Traveller. 

Its  workmanship  is  superb,  and  morally  its  influence  should  be  im 
mense — Boston  Herald. 

It  carries  us  from  the  shams  of  society  to  the  realities  of  war,  and 
sets  before  us  with  a  graphic  power  and  minuteness  the  inner  life  of 
that  great  struggle  in  which  Count  Tolstoi"  took  part. ...  A  thrilling 
tale  of  besieged  Sebastopol.  All  is  intensely  real,  intensely  life-like, 
and  doubly  striking  from  its  very  simplicity.  We  have  before  our 
eyes  war  as  it  really  is. — y.  Y.  Times. 

The  various  incidents  of  the  siege  which  he  selects  in  order  to  pre 
sent  it  in  its  different  aspects  form  a  graphic  whole  which  can  never 
be  forgotten  by  any  one  who  has  once  read  it,  and  it  must  be  read  to 
be  appreciated.— Xation,  N.  Y. 

The  descriptions,  it  is  needless  to  say,  are  masterly.  No  novelist 
has  ever  before  succeeded  in  thus  depicting  the  emotions  and  utter 
ances  of  the  soldier  in  battle. — Beacon,  Boston. 

A  powerful  appeal  against  warfare,  written  in  that  wonderful  style 
which  lends  life  and  character  to  the  most  trivial  incidents  he  describes. 
It  is  a  fascinating  book,  and  one  of  its  chief  merits  is  the  introspec 
tive  art  and  analytical  power  which  every  page  reveals.  .  .  .  This  is 
the  most  nervous  and  dramatic  production  of  Tolstoi  that  has  been 
rendered  into  English. — N.  Y.  Sun. 

It  is,  undoubtedly,  the  most  graphic  and  powerful  of  Tolstoi's  works 
that  has  been  given  to  the  American  reading  public.  ...  It  should  be 
read  and  pondered  by  Christians,  philanthropists,  statesmen— by  every 
one  who  can  think. — Chicago  Interior. 

The  profound  realism  of  the  book,  its  native,  organic  strength,  will 
make  it  one  of  the  great  books  of  the  day.  Certainly  the  underlying, 
the  ever-present  horrors  of  war  have  seldom  been  so  strikingly  set 
forth.—  St.  Louis  Republican. 


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NAKKA,  THE  NIHILIST. 

By  KATHLEEN  O'MEABA.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 


"The  scenes  and  incidents  of  Miss  O'Meara's  tale  are  purely  Rus 
sian,  and  the  time  is  the  present  period  of  which  Tolstoi  treats.  Nat 
urally  they  suggest  the  marvellously  realistic  pictures  of  the  author  of 
'Anna  Karenina,'  although  it  would  be  very  unjust  to  the  younger 
novelist  to  compare  her  work  with  his.  Tolstoi'  is  always  introspec 
tive;  he  deals  rather  with  character  than  with  the  incidents  which  de 
velop  character.  'Narka'  portrays  an  involved  and  ingenious  com 
plication  of  events  which  hold  the  interest  of  the  absorbed  reader  until 
the  end  is  reached.  Tolstoi's  stories,  even  when  he  has  a  story  to  tell, 
are  simply  the  intuitive  outgrowth  of  the  thoughts  and  actions  of  the 
real  men  and  women  he  draws.  His  dramatis  per 'sonce  make  his  plots, 
while  Miss  O'Meara's  plots,  on  the  other  hand,  make  her  men  and 
women.  .  .  .  Narka  Larik,  a  low-born  Russian  Jewess,  is  a  peculiar 
product  of  Russian  soil  and  of  autocratic  Russian  rule.  She  is  pos 
sessed  of  a  beautiful  person,  a  glorious  voice,  and  a  strong  moral  and. 
mental  constitution ;  she  is  suspicious,  as  all  Muscovites  are,  a  thor 
ough  and  consistent  hater,  a  devoted  friend,  truthful  to  a  degree;  and 
ehe  calmly  swears  on  the  holy  image  of  the  blessed  St.  Nicholas  to  an 
utter  falsehood  in  order  to  screen  her  lover  and  to  aid  his  cause.  .  .  . 
The  scenes  are  laid  among  that  curious  mixture  of  Oriental  magnifi 
cence  and  barbaric  discomfort,  of  lavish  expenditure  and  shabby 
makeshift,  to  be  found  in  a  Russian  castle,  with  its  splendid  vast- 
ness,  the  immensity  of  its  grounds,  the  immensity  of  the  forests  on 
all  sides  of  it,  and  the  general  scale  of  immensity  on  which  everything 
about  it,  and  within  it,  is  invariably  conducted.  Add  to  these  Rus 
sian  prisons,  Paris  salons,  French  convents,  the  lyric  stage  at  Milan, 
Socialists,  Nihilists,  priests,  patriots,  and  vivisectionists,  and  it  will 
readily  be  seen  how  strong  and  effective  a  story  can  be  made  by  a 
woman  so  gifted  in  the  telling  of  stories,  the  weaving  of  plots,  and  the 
study  of  character  as  Miss  O'Meara  has  already  proved  herself  to  be. 
Narka  Larik  is  a  better  woman  morally  than  Anna  Karenina,  intel 
lectually  she  is  the  superior  of  Katia,  and  she  is  quite  worthy  to  stand 
by  the  side  of  these  two  illustrious  countrywomen  of  hers  as  the  expo 
nent  of  all  that  is  true  and  womanly  in  modern  Russian  life." 


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A  STRANGE  MANUSCRIPT  FOUND  IN 
A  COPPER  CYLINDER. 

A  Romance.      Richly  Illustrated  by  GILBERT  GAUL. 
12mo,  Cloth,  Extra,  $1  25. 


The  writer  of  this  book,  whose  name  is  still  kept  from  the  public,  is 
in  every  way  qualified  to  rank  with  Mr.  Haggard.  Indeed,  his  clever 
analysis  of  Kogekin  social  laws  is  far  more  able,  from  a  strictly  liter 
ary  point  of  view,  than  anything  Mr.  Haggard  has  ever  done — X.  Y. 
Herald. 

A  story  of  remarkable  power  and  originality,  as  weird  and  as  wild  as 
the  most  extravagant  of  llider  Haggard's  romances,  but  better  lictioii 
and  better  literature  in  every  way.  .  .  .  The  book  is  well  worth  the 
reading,  not  only  for  the  strangeness  of  the  story,  but  for  the  fancy 
and  poetic  sentiment  that  pervade  it,  for  the  brilliancy  of  the  inven 
tion  that,  lias  been  brought  to  bear  upon  it,  and  for  the  immense  vivid 
ness  and  animation  of  the  descriptive  narrative.—  Saturday  Evening 
Gazette,  Boston. 

In  close  connection  with  the  author's  fanciful  creations  there  is  no 
ticeable  a  tine  play  of  irony  and  humor,  which  lends  a  special  charm 
to  the  story.  The  latter  is  full  of  movement,  and  even  in  the  more  ex 
citing  passages  the  exaggeration  necessarily  employed  has  no  effect 
in  wearying  the  reader's  attention. — X.  Y.  Xmi. 

Written  in  an  inviting  manner,  it  preserves  throughout  a  lively 
pictorial  charm  and  dramatic  interest.  The  theme  is  original  in 
the  extreme.  .  .  .  Withal  the  book  is  marvellously  entertaining.  Mr. 
Gaul's  illustrations  are  unusually  tine,  as  we  should  expect. — Brooklyn 
Ti)iies. 

It  surpasses  the  best  of  Haggard's  works  in  literary  tone,  and  its 
fine  dramatic  construction  and  peculiar  power  of  diction  will  readily 
be  acknowledged  by  all  readers.  .  .  .  Taking  it  altogether,  this  book 
is  the  most  remarkable  piece  of  fiction  the  new  year  has  yet  seen,  and 
a  revelation  of  the  identity  of  the  author  would  be  welcomed. — Boston 
Commonwealth. 

A  book  original  in  conception  and  most  powerful  and  dramatic  in 
development.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  author  has  not  seen  fit  to 
reveal  his  name. —  Washington  Post. 

It  is  not  possible  for  any  one,  much  less  a  youth  of  either  sex,  to 
read  "A  Strange  Manuscript"  without  feeling  that  wonderful  charm 
that  stole  over  us  all  when  children  upon  the  perusal  of  our  favorite 
adventures.  The  cathedral  clock  may  chime  the  fast-speeding  hours, 
and  the  midnight  taper  burn  to  its  socket,  but  this  rare  volume  will 
remain  before  the  eager  eyes  until  the  last  page  is  finished.— Hartford 
Post. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  XEW  YORK. 

The  above  irork  sent  by  mnil,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
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H.  RIDER  HAGGARD'S   STORIES. 


There  are  color,  splendor,  and  passion  everywhere;  action  in  abun 
dance  ;  constant  variety  and  absorbing  interest.  Mr.  Haggard  does 
not  err  on  the  side  of  niggardliness ;  he  is  only  too  affluent  in  de 
scription  and  ornament.  .  .  .  There  is  a  largeness,  a  freshness,  and  a 
strength  about  him  which  are  fall  of  promise  and  encouragement, 
the  more  since  he  has  placed  himself  so  unmistakably  on  the  roman 
tic  side  of  fiction  ;  that  is,  on  the  side  of  truth  and  permanent  value. 
...  He  is  already  one  of  the  foremost  modern  romance  writers — X.  Y. 
World. 

Mr.  Haggard  has  a  genius,  not  to  say  a  great  talent,  for  story-tell 
ing.  .  .  .  That  he  should  have  a  large  circle  of  readers  in  England  and 
this  country,  where  so  many  are  trying  to  tell  stories  with  no  stories 
to  tell,  is  a  healthy  sign,  in  that  it  shows  that  the  love  of  fiction,  pure 
and  simple,  is  as  strong  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  Dickens  and  Thack 
eray  and  Scott,  the  older  days  of  Smollett  and  Fielding,  and  the  old, 
old  days  of  Le  Sa^e  and  Cervantes. — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

That  region  of  the  universe  of  romance  which  Mr.  Haggard  has 
opened  up  is  better  worth  a  visit  than  any  that  has  been  explored  for 
many  a  long  year.— St.  James's  Gazette,  London. 

There  is  a  charm  in  tracing  the  ingenuity  of  the  author,  and  a  sense 
of  satisfaction  in  his  firm  grasp  of  his  subject.  There  is  no  uncer 
tainty  at  all,  no  groping  after  material,  but  one  vivid  scene  follows 
another  until  the  reader  says  to  himself,  "Here,  at  last,  is  a  novelist 
who  is  not  attempting  to  spread  out  one  dramatic  situation  so  thin 
that  it  can  be  made  to  do  duty  for  an  entire  volume;  a  man  of  re 
source,  imagination,  and  invention."— Chicago  Herald. 

SHE.      Illustrated.      16mo,  Half  Cloth,  75  cents;  Paper, 

25  cents;  4to,  Paper,  25  cents. 
KING    SOLOMON'S    MINES.     16mo,   Half  Cloth,  75 

cents;  4to,  Paper,  20  cents. 
MR.  MEESON'S  WILL.      16mo,  Half  Cloth,  75  cents; 

Paper,  25  cents. 

JESS.     16mo,  Half  Cloth,  75  cents;  4to,  Paper,  15  cents. 
DAWN.     With  One  Illustration.     16mo,  Half  Cloth,  75 

cents. 

THE  WITCH'S  HEAD.     16mo,  Half  Cloth,  75  cents. 
ALLxVN  QUATERMAIN.  Illustrated.  16mo,  Half  Cloth, 

75  cents;  Paper,  25  cents. 
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75  cents;  Paper,  25  cents. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

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TONY,  THE  MAID. 

A  Novelette.    By  BLANCHE  WILLIS  HOWARD.   Illustrated 
by  CHARLES  S.  REINHART.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 


"  'Tony,  the  Maid,'  is  not  only  one  of  the  best  pieces  of  work  Misa 
Howard  has  yet  done,  but  it  is  one  of  the  very  best  short  stories  of  the 
year.  Tony  herself  is  an  original  creation.  There  is  no  maid  like 
Tony  in  all  fiction  ;  and  she  is,  moreover,  the  only  good  thing,  which 
is  neither  superlatively  beautiful  nor  emphatically  a  bore,  or  both,  that 
has  come  out  of  the  Canton  of  Lucerne  since  the  days  of  William  Tell. 
Even  the  insatiate  archer,  when  he  is  not  mythical,  is  a  trifle  wearing 
to  the  average  mind,  but  Tony  is  never  tiresome  and  always  grand. 

"As  a  short  story  Miss  Howard's  'Tony,  the  Maid'  has  but  one 
fault.  It  is  too  short.  There  is  not  enough  of  Tony.  She  makes  her 
exit  too  suddenly  and  too  completely.  It  is  consoling  to  know,  how 
ever,  that  Miss  Zschorcher  is  some  day  coming  to  America  as  Mrs. 
Ednard  Maler.  Perhaps  Tony  the  Maid  may  figure  as  Tony  the  Ma 
tron  and  Tony  the  Mother.  Knowing  her  duty  to  her  gracious  Fra'u- 
lein,  no  doubt  she  will." 

A  bright  and  lively  sketch  of  an  American  woman  abroad,  and  char 
acterized  throughout  by  keen  and  forcible  phraseology  and  a  very 
symmetrical  construction. — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

This  is  a  very  clever  satire  on  one  of  the  phases  of  modern  society, 
and  the  tale  is  told  in  a  most  charming  manner. —Albany  Press. 

It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  met  with  anything  so  charming,  so 
refreshing,  so  droll.  .  .  .  Read  this  book  once,  and  one  wants  to  turn 
back  and  read  it  again. — X.  Y.  Star. 

Mr.  Keinhart's  illustrations  greatly  enhance  the  interest  of  the  nov 
elette. — Buffalo  Commercial  Advertiser. 

A  story  written  in  a  style  as  simple  as  that  which  Miss  Howard  has 
adopted  in  this  novelette  is  sure  to  find  many  readers.  The  story  is 
well  told  and  attractive.— Troy  Press. 

"Tony,  the  Maid,"  is  safe  for  a  great  success  with  the  lovers  of  the 
bright  and  dainty  in  literature.  It  is  prettily  bound,  and  uncommonly 
cleverly  illustrated.— X.  Y.  Graphic. 

The  story  is  told  with  infinite  humor  and  with  not  a  little  pathos, 
and  it  will  well  repay  perusal.—  Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

The  plot  is  new,  the  characters  are  fresh,  and  the  handling  is  spirited 
and  brisk.  No  one  who  commences  this  little  book  will  stop  reading 
until  the  end  is  reached.— Chicago  Journal. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

ISr-  The  above  work  sent  bi/  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


THEIK  PILGKIMAGE. 

By  CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER.  Richly  Illustrated  by 
C.  S.  REINHART.  pp.  viii.,  364.  8vo,  Half  Leather 
$200. 


Aside  from  the  delicious  etory— its  wonderful  portraitures  of  char 
acter  and  its  dramatic  development— the  book  is  precious  to  all  who 
know  anything  about  the  great  American  watering-places,  for  it  con 
tains  incomparable  descriptions  of  those  famous  resorts  and  their 
frequenters.  Even  without  the  aid  of  Mr.  Reinhart's  brilliant  draw 
ings,  Mr.  Warner  conjures  up  word-pictures  of  Cape  May,  Newport, 
Saratoga,  Lake  George,  Richfield  Springs,  Niagara,  the  White  Mount 
ains,  and  all  the  rest,  which  strike  the  eye  like  photographs, so  clear 
is  every  outline.  But  Mr.  Reinhart's  designs  fit  into  the  text  so 
closely  that  we  could  not  bear  to  part  with  a  single  one  of  them. 
"Their  Pilgrimage"  is  destined,  for  an  indefinite  succession  of  sum 
mers,  to  be  a  ruling  favorite  with  all  visitors  of  the  mountains,  the 
beaches,  and  the  spas.— N.  Y.  Journal  of  Commerce. 

The  author  touches  the  canvas  here  and  there  with  lines  of  color 
that  fix  and  identify  American  character.  Herein  is  the  real  charm 
for  those  who  like  it  best,  and  for  this  one  may  anticipate  that  it  will 
be  one  of  the  prominent  books  of  the  time.  Of  the  fancy  and  humor 
of  Mr.  Warner,  which  in  witchery  of  their  play  and  power  are  quite 
independent  of  this  or  that  subject,  there  is  nothing  to  add.  But  ac 
knowledgment  is  due  Mr.  Reinhart  for  nearly  eighty  finely  conceived 
drawings. — Boston  Globe. 

No  more  entertaining  travelling  companions  for  a  tour  of  pleasure 
resorts  could  be  wished  for  than  those  who  in  Mr.  Warner's  pages 
chat  and  lauirh,  and  skim  the  cream  of  all  the  enjoyment  to  be  found 
from  Mount  Washington  to  the  Sulphur  Springs.  .  .  .  His  pen-pictures 
of  the  characters  typical  of  each  resort,  of  the  manner  of  life  followed 
at  each,  of  the  humor  and  absurdities  peculiar  to  Saratoga,  or  New 
port,  or  Bar  Harbor,  as  the  case  may  be,  are  as  good-natured  as  they 
are  clever.  The  satire,  when  there  is  any,  is  of  the  mildest,  and  the 
general  tone  is  that  of  one  glad  to  look  on  the  brightest  side  of  the 
cheerful,  pleasure-seeking  world  with  which  he  mingles.  ...  In  Mr. 
Reinhart  the  author  has  an  assistant  who  has  done  with  his  pencil 
almost  exactly  what  Mr.  Warner  has  accomplished  with  his  pen.— 
Christian  Union,  N.  Y. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

The  above  work  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BY  MRS.  BURTON  HARRISON. 


BAR  HARBOR  DAYS.    A  Tale  of  Mount  Desert      II- 
lustrated  by  Fenn  and  Hyde.     16rno,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

A  bright  story  of  life  at  Mount  Desert.  ...  It  is  exceedingly  well 
done,  and  the  scenery,  the  ways  of  the  people,  and  the  social  methods 
of  the  nisticators  lend  interest  to  the  book. — Christian  Advocate,  N.  Y. 

The  book  is  bright  and  readable.— Courier,  Boston. 

A  delightful  book  about  Mount  Desert,  its  summer  inhabitants, 
their  sayings  and  doings.— ^V.  Y.  Sim. 

One  of  the  most  attractive  books  of  the  season,  and  will  be  in  great 
demand  by  readers  who  wish  an  original,  captivating  summer  idyl.— 
Hartford  I'ost. 

HELEN  TROY      16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

It  is  a  breezy  little  society  novel,  with  a  pretty  plot  and  a  number 
of  capitally  drawn  characters.  .  .  It  is  always  bright,  fresh,  and  en 
tertaining,  and  has  an  element  of  naturalness  that  is  particularly 
pleasing.  The  descriptions  are  very  spirited,  the  conversations  are 
full  of  point  and  often  genuinely  witty,  and  the  tone  of  the  whole  is 
both  refined  and  delicate.—  Saturday  Evening  Gazette,  Boston. 

The  book  is  written  with  exceeding  cleverness,  and  abounds  in  de 
lightful  little  pictures.— The  Critic,  N.  Y. 

Mrs.  Harrison's  style  is  crisp,  epigrammatic,  piquant ;  she  shades 
her  characters  artistically,  paints  from  real  life,  and,  without  hurrying 
the  reader  along,  never  lets  her  story  drag.  .  .  .  The  merit  of  the  work 
lies  in  the  fidelity  of  its  portraiture  and  the  felicity  of  its  utterance.— 
.V.  Y.  Herald. 

GOLDEN  ROD  .  AN  IDYL  OF  MOUNT  DESERT. 
32mo,  Paper,  25  cents  ;  Cloth,  40  cents. 

A  very  sweet  little  story  of  a  successful  courtship,  wrought  into  a 
charming  description  of  scenery  and  life  on  Mount  Desert.— Spring 
field  (111.)  State  Journal. 

This  is  a  most  charming  summer  story — "An  Idyl  of  Mount  Des 
ert'1 — the  mere  reading  of  which  makes  yon  long  to  be  there,  and  to 
1'eel  sure  you  will  find  the  delightful  people,  and  just  in  the  particular 
nooks,  you  have  been  reading  about.  —  Galesburg  (111.)  Republican 
Register. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

The  above,  works  Kent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BY  K.  M.  JOHNSTON. 


OLD  MARK  LANGSTON.     A  Tale  of  Duke's  Creek. 
16mo,  Cloth,  $1  00. 

DUKESBOROUGH  TALES.     Illustrated.     4to,  Paper, 
25  cents. 

MR.     ABSALOM     BILLINGSLEA,     AND     OTHER 
GEORGIA  FOLK.     Illustrated.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 

The  people  in  these  stones  are  of  a  simple,  kindly  disposition,  with 
much  active  friendliness  for  one  another,  and  with  a  total  absence  of 
that  distrustful  egotism  which  tends  in  our  modern  society  to  isolate 
the  individual.  Such  characters  as  these  good  Georgia  fanners  re 
quire  no  acute  analysis  ;  and  Mr.  Johnston  lias  the  sympathy  and  the 
sense  of  humor  which  enables  him  to  seize  and  portray  their  person 
ality  effectively.  —  Watchman,  Boston. 

Mr.  Johnston  has  won  for  himself  an  altogether  distinctive  place  in 
this  field  of  literature  by  reason  of  the  peculiarly  original  and  hitherto 
tmworked  character  of  the  class  whom  he  describes  and  the  special 
aptitude  he  evinces  for  the  task.  Nothing  save  long  and  intimate  res 
idence  among  them,  coupled  with  rare  powers  of  observation,  and  the 
still  rarer  gift  of  faithful  delineation,  quickened  by  the  sympathetic  in 
terest  of  friendship,  could  have  gained  for  him  such  correct  insight 
into  their  habits  of  thought,  modes  of  expression,  and  ways  of  life,  or 
the  power  he  possesses  of  rendering  interesting  a  hitherto  homely  and 
uupicturesque  people;  but  by  the  magic  of  his  interpretations  they  be 
come  piquant,  amusing,  even  attractive,  endowed  with  a  strong  and 
vivid  individuality  which  makes  them  seem  veritable  creations. — 
Washington  Post. 

The  men  and  women  who  figure  in  his  pages  seem  more  like  real 
people  than  the  creations  of  a  novelist,  and  it  can  hardly  be  doubted, 
so  vivid  are  the  portraits,  that  the  author  met  them  all  and  knew  them 
well.  He  seems  to  be  rather  giving  his  recollections  than  telling  sto 
ries  of  fictitious  beings.  There  are  few  who  will  not  enjoy  the  quaint 
and  original  writings  of  this  clever  humorist.—  Baltimore  Xews. 

Mr.  Johnston  is  quaint  and  charming,  and  his  stories  are  like  bits  of 
old  china,  or  parts  of  costumes  folded  away  in  chests,  holding  in  their 
silken  folds  a  perfume  we  can  find  nowhere  else. — A".  Y.  Star. 

Mr.  Johnston  has  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  understanding  of  the 
adaptability  of  common  incidents  to  the  purposes  of  story-telling.  He 
is  a  good  story-teller,  and  is  at  his  best  when  he  is  not  inventing  but 
remembering-  for  it  is  a  peculiarity  of  these  tales  that  they  read  like 
veritable  pages  from  the  real  life  of  their  actors. — JV.  1".  Mail  and  Ex 
press. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  XEW  YORK. 

By  Any  of  the  above  works  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part 
of  the  United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


BEX-HUK:  A  TALE   OF  THE  CHRIST. 

By  LEW.  WALLACE.    New  Edition  from  New  Electrotype 
Plates,     pp.  560.    16mo,  Cloth,  $1  50;  Half  Calf,  $3  00. 


Anything  so  startling,  new,  and  distinctive  as  the  leading  feature  of 
this  romance  does  not  often  appear  in  works  of  fiction.  . .  .  Some  of 
Mr.  Wallace's  writing  is  remarkable  for  its  pathetic  eloquence.  The 
scenes  described  in  the  New  Testament  are  re-written  with  the  power 
and  skill  of  an  accomplished  master  of  style. — N.  Y.  Times. 

Its  real  basis  is  a  description  of  the  life  of  the  Jews  and  Romans  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era,  and  this  is  both  forcible  and  brill 
iant.  .  .  .  We  are  carried  through  a  surprising  variety  of  scenes :  we 
witness  a  sea-fight,  a  chariot-race,  the  internal  economy  of  a  Roman 
galley,  domestic  interiors  at  Antioch,  at  Jerusalem,  and  among  the 
tribes  of  the  desert;  palaces,  prisons,  the  haunts  of  dissipated  Roman 
youth,  the  houses  of  pious  families  of  Israel.  There  is  plenty  of  ex 
citing  incident;  everything  is  animated,  vivid,  and  glowing. — N.  Y. 
Tribune. 

From  the  opening  of  the  volume  to  the  very  close  the  reader's  in 
terest  will  be  kept  at  the  highest  pitch,  and  the  novel  will  be  pro 
nounced  by  all  one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  day. — Boston  Post. 

It  is  full  of  poetic  beauty,  as  though  born  of  an  Eastern  sage,  and 
there  is  sufficient  of  Oriental  customs,  geography,  nomenclature,  etc., 
to  greatly  strengthen  the  semblance. — Boston  Commonwealth. 

"  Ben-Hur  "  is  interesting,  and  its  characterization  is  fine  and  strong. 
Meanwhile  it  evinces  careful  study  of  the  period  in  which  the  scene  is 
laid,  and  will  help  those  who  read  it  with  reasonable  attention  to  real 
ize  the  nature  and  conditions  of  Hebrew  life  in  Jerusalem  and  Ro 
man  life  at  Autioch  at  the  time  of  our  Saviour's  advent.— Examiner, 
N.  Y. 

It  is  really  Scripture  history  of  Christ's  time,  clothed  gracefully  and 
delicately  in  the  flowing  and  loose  drapery  of  modern  fiction.  .  . .  Few 
late  works  of  fiction  excel  it  in  genuine  ability  and  interest.—  Ar.  Y. 
Graphic. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  delightful  books.  It  is  as  real  and 
warm  as  life  itself,  and  as  attractive  as  the  grandest  and  most  heroic 
chapters  of  history. — Indianapolis  Journal. 

The  book  is  one  of  unquestionable  power,  and  will  be  read  with  un 
wonted  interest  by  many  readers  who  are  weary  of  the  conventional 
novel  and  romance.— Boston  Journal. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

^p"  The  above  ivork  sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the 
United  States  or  Canada,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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v.  .     UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


